


in the woods: a heart, closing

by zannen



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Domestic, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Small Town, Angst, Fairy Tale Elements, M/M, Magic, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Relationship(s), Self-Discovery, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-05-19 11:08:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19355815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zannen/pseuds/zannen
Summary: “I’m—” Baekhyun gulps. He was not, will never be, could never have been prepared for something like this to happen. “I’m—Baekhyun? That’s. My name. Baekhyun.”The man doesn’t look at him as he asks, “Are you the one who freed me, Baekhyun?”“Uh. I guess?”—AU. Baekhyun thought life in a small town would be boring. He's more than happy to be proven wrong.** ON HIATUS (2/11/20) **





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, so this is the first chapter of a longfic I've been working on for a little bit! I haven't posted a WIP in... uhm... over a decade, so please bear with me ~~while I figure out some kind of schedule~~ hahahaha jk there won't be a schedule
> 
> Tags will be added as the story progresses, and rating has the potential to change somewhere down the line, if it does at all. I can't really say for sure. We'll see where my whims take me!
> 
> Anyway, shout-out to everyone who's been telling me to write actual longfic for the past couple of years. This one's for you. *finger guns*

When Baekhyun was a child, he was told not to go beyond the garden at the back of his grandparents’ house. If he wandered past the line of the forest, there’d be a sharp rebuke from the adults, warnings about the local wildlife and poisonous plants, and about the dangers of getting lost among the thicket of trees. He could go for a walk in the forest, they’d tell him, if he followed one of the paths leading out from the town, the well-worn lines of dirt that promised safety, visibility, the possibility of other people.

Baekhyun isn’t a child now. He walks into the forest easily, with no one to give him a proverbial slap on the wrist or fuss over him or lecture him on poison ivy. He doesn’t know yet if this is a sign of freedom or loneliness.

From the trails, the forest has a certain look about it, dense and secret, forbidden. The paths that have been carved out are well-lit from the breaks in the canopy, but everything beyond is cast in shadow. Now, walking in these shadows, with only infrequent patches of sunlight piercing through the leaves, the feeling of doing something illicit has already faded. It’s just peaceful and cool. Birdsong above, buzzing insects all around, something croaking nearby, shrubs rustling in the breeze. No danger. Not yet.

He stumbles a couple of times, over tree roots and large rocks, because he’s careless by nature and unused to anything but even, paved ground. He keeps letting his eyes wander anyway, though, not really watching where he’s going. His grandma would say, fondly, that he wasn’t very good at learning from his mistakes. She wasn’t wrong.

Eventually he trips, fully, his foot catching on a fallen branch that tugs at his shoelaces with its greedy bark. The yelp he lets out as he falls manages to echo through the forest, too, scaring off a few of the chittering birds in the trees above. But it’s fine. He catches himself, sort of, getting more dirt on his palms and forearms and knees than anywhere else. No scrapes, probably no bruising. Except he clambers to his feet and, oh, there’s a tear in his jeans now. He frowns down at it, bends over and pokes a finger into the ripped denim, huffs.

“Nature,” he mumbles in half-hearted derision before continuing on, now more carefully.

He’s been going in more or less a straight line to keep from getting himself lost, but after several minutes of walking he sees a small clearing ahead and to the left. It’s blindingly bright, hit directly by rays of sun, so Baekhyun has to squint as he approaches just to see that there’s a person standing there.

“Oh, h—” he starts, then clamps his mouth shut almost immediately, embarrassment warming his cheeks as he stops in his tracks.

It isn’t a person at all, he realizes now, but a statue. Chuckling at his own awkwardness, Baekhyun walks toward it, making a mental note of the way he came from as he goes.

The statue is a figure clad in robes, with the smooth grey stone carved so carefully that every fold of cloth, every wrinkle looks real. Baekhyun reaches out a hand to touch one of the sleeves and is almost surprised not to feel silk. He circles the statue, taking in all its little details to try to piece together who or what it is, what purpose it serves. Frustratingly, there’s no plaque or engraving anywhere to point him to the answer. Just a man, one leg bent slightly at the knee, as though frozen in mid-step.

“Maybe from a shrine?” he mumbles to himself. He shakes his head; the figure doesn’t look like anything religious. The robes aren’t even full-length, extending to the mid-calf while the sleeves fall just past the elbows, too casual to be ceremonial. He narrows his eyes up at the statue’s face, looking over the intricate carvings of its eyes and brow, the impossible texture of the pinned-up hair. Strong jaw. Regal posture. “Warrior?” he guesses now, though there’s no sign of a weapon. It must be some sort of monument, he decides. Though to what, he isn’t sure.

The statue is perfectly in the center of its clearing, surrounded by grass just overgrown enough to look unkempt and littered with bits of detritus and moss. If it _is_ a monument, it hasn’t been tended to in some time, which is a shame. Baekhyun feels a little responsible for it now, even if it isn’t his fault or problem, even if it’s just a block of stone out in the middle of a forest behind his grandparents’—behind _his_ house, he reminds himself. Just his.

“Well,” he says after a long pause. “This is kinda weird, huh?”

The statue, predictably, does not respond.

“Alright,” says Baekhyun. “I guess I’ll come back later? If I can find this place again,” he adds. “If not… sorry, man.” He tightens his mouth into a sympathetic almost-smile and pats the statue on the shoulder. Then he hesitates, feeling like he should do something more. Searching around, he finds a small cluster of wildflowers by the edge of the clearing, delicate blue and tiny. Forget-me-nots, maybe, though he doesn’t know enough about flowers to be sure. He jogs over, plucks out a fistful, then goes back to lay them at the foot of the statue, saying, “There. Just so you know someone cares.”

He retraces his steps back to the house, readjusting his course a couple of times when he sees familiar landmarks—a large stump, a decaying birdhouse, some old graffiti that’s mostly faded or chipped away. Then, back in the garden, an illusion he hadn’t even noticed he’d sunken into is broken, like waking from a strange dream. When he looks down, he half expects not to see the signs of his fall, but is comforted to find it all still there, even the hole.

Reality solidified, he retreats back into a home that still doesn’t feel like his, that still smells like childhood visits to a distant haven and not quite like normalcy yet. He opens an old fridge, mostly empty, and pours himself Kool-Aid from a pitcher, using a coffee mug instead of a proper glass because that’s all he has. There’s a spiderweb in front of the grimy pane of the kitchen window. The cupboards creak in complaint when opened, then groan when shut.

It won’t be easy, he knows, making a life here. But he believes in what people say about how nothing worth doing ever is. Whether he can do it at all remains to be seen.

 

 

The next day, he tries asking one of his neighbors—Mr. Zhang, a retired pediatrician with terrible back problems—about the statue, on the off chance that the man might know something about it.

“In the forest?” Mr. Zhang echoes. He hums pensively, tapping his cane against the floorboards. He has a pronounced dimple on one cheek, which shows itself at every pull of his mouth. Baekhyun has the impression that this man was terribly charming when he was younger—still is, of course, albeit in the unthreatening way that older people can be. “I haven’t gone back there in a long time now, so I’m not sure,” he says apologetically.

Baekhyun, who’s kneeling down to pet Mr. Zhang’s cat, tries not to sag with disappointment. “It’s pretty far off the trail anyway,” he says. “Don’t think a lot of people go through there.” The cat’s eyes fall shut as Baekhyun scratches the top of her head. He grins in satisfaction. “And who even knows how old it is.”

“Do you know what it is?”

“No clue,” says Baekhyun. “It just looks like some guy dressed in old-fashioned robes. I was thinking it might be an art installation, or some kind of memorial?” The calico’s eyes snap open suddenly, and Baekhyun, startled, has to jerk his hand away to avoid being bitten.

“Ah, she doesn’t bite hard,” says Mr. Zhang, laughter in his voice. “She just likes playing.”

“Well,” says Baekhyun. He doesn’t know how to express that he’s a coward who can’t handle being nipped at, even in play. He just smiles tightly and stands back up.

“But for your statue,” says Mr. Zhang, “you should ask Junmyeon Kim at the library. You could say he’s a sort of local historian. If it’s anything important, he’ll know.”

It’s not much of a lead, but it’s something. “I’ll do that, thank you.” Then, “Anyway, what were you saying about your… uh… goats?”

Later that morning, Baekhyun has to change out of his clothes and take a quick bath to get rid of the smell of goat shit and damp hay. Altruism is dead to him now, he decides. He’ll be a recluse and never speak to his neighbors again, especially the ones who are demons disguised as kindly old men. He still isn’t sure what to do about his dirty laundry, but he decides that’s a problem for another day. For now, he’s just going to focus on exploring the town, and hopefully solving a mystery or two along the way.

He’s been to the grocery store already, as well as the bank. Now he wanders the roads, which are almost too narrow for two cars at a time, and takes stock of all the different shops he finds. Every now and then he sees someone walking their dog, always a large one, the kind people can afford to keep when they have big yards.

He finds the library wedged between the post office and a daycare. It’s small and outdated, as dusty-looking as the books inside probably are. And the moment Baekhyun steps into the cramped maze of the interior, he can smell the musty fragrance of old books. The lights are slightly dim. One is even flickering.

A voice comes from nowhere, asking, “Can I help you?” so suddenly it makes Baekhyun nearly jump out of his skin. He’s too high-strung for this town. Survival might be impossible.

He turns toward the source of the voice and finds a man, middle-aged, wearing an argyle sweater vest that immediately sets him up as the stereotype of a librarian. There are even dorky, wire-rimmed glasses obscuring what otherwise looks like a handsome face, nicely structured with obvious laugh lines.

“Hey,” says Baekhyun. “I’m, uh, new here? So I’m checking things out.”

“Well,” says the librarian, “if you’re looking to check something out, you’ve come to the right place.” He grins toothily, eyes crinkling into a delighted smile, and it takes a few terrible seconds for Baekhyun to realize it was a library joke.

“Oh, haha,” he says belatedly, then clears his throat. “So. Anyway. I also had a question, and I was told to talk to a… Mr. Kim?”

“You’re looking at him,” says the man. His pleasant demeanor seems unshaken by Baekhyun’s reaction. He adjusts his glasses. “But you can call me Junmyeon.”

“Baekhyun.” They shake hands. “So you know a lot about the history here?”

“I like to think I do,” says Junmyeon. “What did you want to know?”

“Well, uh, I was taking a walk through the woods…”

Junmyeon listens with obvious interest as Baekhyun recounts his story about the statue in the clearing, nodding along and making thoughtful noises. He taps his chin, lip jutting out in an unconscious pout.

“I have some tentative theories,” he says once Baekhyun’s finished, “but I couldn’t say for sure without seeing for myself.”

“You’re free to come take a look, if you want,” says Baekhyun, shrugging. “But honestly, even a theory about what it might be would be nice. It’s weird for something that nice to just be out there in the middle of nowhere.”

“I agree,” says Junmyeon. “I’m a little curious now, too.” Then, “You said you’re up on Weir?”

“Yeah. My grandma and grandpa’s old place. Mr. and Mrs. Byun?”

Junmyeon gives a nod of recognition. “Right,” he says. “They were very kind people. I’m sorry for your loss.” He seems to actually mean it. The sentiment coming from a stranger, though, is still awkward.

Baekhyun shifts his weight on his feet. For lack of anything better to do with his hands, he shoves them clumsily into his pockets. “Thanks.” He struggles not to fidget. “But about the statue,” he says.

“Right. Well—” Junmyeon frowns. “I’m a little busy this week, but if you want I could stop by on Monday after I pick my daughter up from school. She gets out at three.”

It makes sense, logistically; the school is right down the road from Baekhyun’s house. Easily within walking distance. “If it’s not too much trouble, I’d really appreciate it,” says Baekhyun. “So how old’s your daughter?”

With a proud, glowing smile, Junmyeon says, “Just turned seven. She’s at the stage where her favorite thing to do is go on adventures.”

“Ah,” says Baekhyun, smiling, “so am I, I guess. Twenty-seven, going on seven?”

Junmyeon chuckles. “Some people never grow out of it. It’s not a bad way to live.”

They chat for a bit longer, with Junmyeon eventually wheedling Baekhyun into getting a library card. Reading isn’t really Baekhyun’s thing, not anymore, but maybe it could be. New town, new life, new Baekhyun. He could start over and be a different person now, if he wanted.

On the way home, he sees someone riding by on a motorcycle, buzzing along on the narrow road. He watches a little longingly as they zip past.

Maybe not that different of a person. But anything could happen, he thinks.

 

 

His to-do list for the day:

Call an electrician to get the wiring figured out.

Drive out to the next town to shop for appliances.

Find out where to get good food around here.

Rediscover his purpose in life.

Since he’s tired of eating nothing but eggs and pan-fried toast in different combinations and doesn’t know how to make much else, he decides to prioritize hunting for food before going about the rest of his business. He hops in his car, figuring he could head straight to the store after he’s eaten.

There’s a diner by the gas station just before the highway. Baekhyun saw it on his way into town the other day. He thinks he remembers it being a different gas station when he was a kid, one with a little shop attached to it where you could get ice cream and hot dogs in the summer, but he can’t say for sure. His memories of the town of Moonwood were always sort of hazy, like the place was never quite real, and anything he thought he knew of it may have just been from a dream, or a half-remembered movie he’d seen on TV.

Like so many things in the town, Lady Luck is an old-fashioned place, a bold and tacky sign declaring it the home of the best hotcakes this side of the mountains. Baekhyun is skeptical on this point, but willing to entertain the possibility. There are already a few other cars in the smallish lot when he pulls in, so business must be good enough.

The hotcakes don’t end up being the best he’s ever had, but it’s good food and good service, complete with bottomless coffee, so he can’t complain. The place even has a jukebox in the corner, the kind that calls for a nickel per song and exclusively has oldies that are largely unfamiliar to someone his age. These are things he doesn’t mind about small towns, this quaintness.

Helpfully, his waitress—who’s sweet and pretty and no, Baekhyun isn’t going to fool himself into thinking she’d be interested in him in the slightest—knows an electrician he can see about making sure the outlets in his house won’t actually kill him like they’ve been threatening to. Went to high school with him, she says. Good guy, she supposes. Learned from his dad. Charges a fair rate. Maybe an even fairer rate if Baekhyun tells him Joy recommended him. Another thing to like about small towns, then.

He heads to the store next, a Sears in a neighboring town that’s large enough to warrant a shopping mall. He’s decidedly unhappy about the amount of money he has to spend on a compact washer and dryer, but his only other options are washing by hand or spending even more by going to a laundromat. And anyway, it’s not as though he can’t afford it now, but growing up without easy access to money makes any large purchases uncomfortable. The salesman, though, seems to take pity on him, saying they can do a free delivery if he’s willing to wait until Saturday. Baekhyun quickly agrees. He has more than enough clean clothes to last him for a bit anyway. Before he leaves, he gets the cheapest microwave and toaster he can find. Pots and pans will only get a person so far when they’re inept at all things culinary.

With everything else more or less sorted out, Baekhyun settles in back at home and almost forgets about the haunting mystery of the statue. A glance out his back door reminds him, though, as he looks out at the dense tranquility of the tree line, highlighted by the afternoon sun. His grandfather said once that the Moonwood was an ancient forest, that everything in it was old and big and didn’t want to be disturbed. Even the paths carved out through the forest don’t reach far into its depths; the townsfolk want to preserve the remainder of the land as best they can. Or, Baekhyun suspects, they might be just slightly afraid of what they would find.

As he’s gazing out the glass panes of the door, he spots a flicker of movement by the forest edge, the quickest little flash of white and spots of color. When the thing pauses by a shrub, he realizes it’s Mr. Zhang’s cat, Irene, who’s darting around through the foliage as though chasing something.

“Poor bird,” Baekhyun mutters, thinking of the round little bushtits he’s seen hopping about. He hesitates before opening the door, then takes a step out and whistles two quick, sharp notes.

Irene freezes, having just pounced on some unseen thing. She’s alert and staring straight at Baekhyun. Neither of them moves, both just watching the other. Feeling like the ball is in his court, Baekhyun squats down, whistles more softly this time, and holds a hand out in invitation. He doesn’t know if that works on cats like it does on dogs, but it’s worth a try.

For a long moment, Irene stays frozen, staring straight in Baekhyun’s direction, her ears and bottle brush tail sticking straight up. Then, quick as anything, she spins around and prances back home, ignoring both him and her prey. Her tail waves elegantly behind her as she goes.

“Weird.” Baekhyun stands back up. He’ll have to find out some other time if he isn’t a cat person, or just isn’t an Irene person. It could be either or both.

He looks up the electrician Joy at the diner mentioned and gives him a call. Johnny has a natural sort of drawl to his voice, the kind that, coupled with how often he says _man_ , probably has older generations labeling him a punk. But he’s friendly and accommodating, just like everyone in Moonwood’s been, and eagerly offers a discounted rate for his inspection. It’s a too-easy matter once again. Once the call’s ended, Baekhyun feels simultaneous satisfaction and dread over how cut-and-dried everything has been so far. Nothing is ever this easy. Something has to go wrong soon.

Now, Baekhyun just searches around for something to entertain himself with. The old TV in the living room is staticky and only has the basic channels, and certainly nowhere to hook up his PlayStation; his old books and comics haven’t been fully unpacked yet; he was never smart enough to develop practical hobbies, like cooking or gardening or any sort of craft; and solitaire can only hold his attention for a maximum of three minutes at a time, if that. For all the preparations Baekhyun made in moving here, he somehow failed to account for his dreadful, unrelenting boredom.

There’s only one thing he can think to do. He grabs his keys, walks out the door, and heads back into the forest.

It starts off as a casual stroll, until Baekhyun finds himself walking with sudden purpose and realizes he does, in fact, have a destination in mind.

His sense of direction is so lacking that he almost doesn’t find the clearing from before. When he does, it’s almost by accident, once he’s all but given up and resigned himself to going back home. Before walking toward it, he surveys his surroundings, just to make sure there’s nothing conspicuous around, no obvious clues he missed that could tell him what this is for. Nothing. Disappointed, he makes his approach.

The statue has an otherworldly glow to it, sunlight shining over the matte grey stone in a way that makes its every shadow that much more dramatic. Baekhyun inspects it again, taking in the precise details of the clothes, the face, the _hair_. It’s so intricate as to be unsettling, from the delicate curves of the ears to the shallow indents along the edges of the fingernails. It’s like a fucking Bernini. It should be in a museum, not the middle of some forest.

“Cult thing,” Baekhyun thinks aloud, though he doesn’t fully know what that even means. He purses his lips in dissatisfaction.

There’s no reason for him to think he can solve this mystery today, with no leads, no outside help, no sense of what to even look for. Regardless, he stands in front of the statue and watches it for a long moment. They’re of a similar height; he only has to look down by degrees to meet its blank, empty eyes.

With a sigh, Baekhyun takes a step back. He glances down to where he left the flowers the other day. They’re still there, looking as untouched as everything else here. As he’s looking, he notices there’s no base to the statue. It’s standing freely like a person would, on bare feet, like the uneven ground doesn’t matter at all to its balance. Too much rainfall could weaken the surrounding dirt and make it topple, if it’s as heavy as it looks. Odd choice for something so carefully designed. Unless it had a base at one point, his brain supplies, and it’s been stolen and moved here by some kind of art thief, who’s just storing it until—

“Oh.” There’s something glinting in the grass by the statue’s left foot. Baekhyun squats down and picks it up. “A necklace?” he says to no one. He cocks his head to the side, holding up the chain for closer inspection.

It’s fine silver, with a pendant on the end that looks like a pearlescent eight-pointed star. Save for a bit of dirt, it seems flawless, as though someone dropped it there just that day. He hauls himself back to his feet, looks back and forth between the piece of jewelry and the statue, curious.

It probably, he decides, belongs to the person who left the statue here. Probably a thief’s necklace. Even so, Baekhyun wouldn’t feel right taking it; it isn’t his, and he isn’t big on jewelry anyway. It wouldn’t be right to take it. Sighing, he holds up the silver chain, then pulls it over the statue’s head so it drapes delicately over blue-and-white robes, stark against the flash of sun-kissed skin along the collarbones.

Wait.

Baekhyun does a double-take, blinking rapidly. Surely he’s imagining it. Surely there isn’t—

The statue, now a man, gasps.

Screaming in terror, Baekhyun stumbles, falling flat on his rear. He scrambles backward until his back hits a tree. Then all he can do is gape as the man in the center of the clearing sinks shakily onto his knees, eyes closed and chest heaving with every labored breath.

Baekhyun tries to form words, but it takes several attempts before he can stutter out, “ _What the fuck_.”

The man opens his eyes, fixing them on Baekhyun with a drowsy sort of intensity. His expression contorts into a deep frown. They stare at each other as the man’s breathing slows.

“Who are you?” he asks, voice low and scratchy, as though roughened from lack of use.

“I,” Baekhyun starts. “Who am—you—wh—you were a _statue_.”

“Was I?” Almost at once, the man’s face goes lax with what looks like grief. His eyes flutter closed again. “Of course,” he says, possibly to himself.

“I’m—” Baekhyun gulps. He was not, will never be, could never have been prepared for something like this to happen. “I’m—Baekhyun? That’s. My name. Baekhyun.”

The man doesn’t look at him as he asks, “Are you the one who freed me, Baekhyun?”

“Uh. I guess?” Baekhyun’s heart is still in panic mode, trying to pound its way right through his ribcage. “I put a necklace on you and then you were a person and here we are, so, uh, yeah. I guess I did?” His voice pitches higher toward the end in his state of near hysteria.

The man sighs quietly. He lifts the pendant with gentle fingers and looks down at it despondently, then lets his arm fall to his side.

“At least there’s that,” he mutters. He meets Baekhyun’s eye once again. “My name is Kyungsoo.”

“Nice… to meet you?” says Baekhyun. “I’m—normally I’m a lot more articulate than, uh, this, but you were a fucking statue two minutes ago and that doesn’t normally happen so I’m kind of losing my shit over here?”

Kyungsoo grimaces. There are still bits of moss stuck to his clothes. This situation is impossible and ridiculous, and yet here they are.

“I was,” Kyungsoo confirms. “Thanks to you, I’m not anymore.” He pushes himself up, stumbling a bit as he clambers to his feet, then starts to brush the dirt, moss and twigs from his robes. All the while, Baekhyun just shrinks back anxiously against the tree trunk and watches.

When Kyungsoo speaks again, he says, “I don’t know how long I was gone, but my family is probably worried. If you like, you can come with me to meet them. I’m sure they would want to reward you for your help.”

“Your family?” says Baekhyun, picturing some sort of bizarre orthodox village on the outskirts of town, where they dress in robes and do weird rituals and practice spooky magic and things. Surely he would know, though, if a place like that existed. “That’s—I—where do you live?”

“Here,” says Kyungsoo.

“Here?”

“The forest. Just a little further in.” All said like it’s obvious, like Baekhyun should _know_. Something in Baekhyun’s expression must tip him off, though, because Kyungsoo’s mouth falls open in surprise. “Oh. You’re human.”

“What—” The words catch in Baekhyun’s throat. He has to force them out: “What else would I be?”

Kyungsoo shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. Come on.”

He walks over to Baekhyun, holding out a hand to help him up. Baekhyun hesitates before accepting it, because this guy was a _statue_ , and what if that’s somehow contagious? Baekhyun can’t become a statue; he’s a homeowner with taxes now, and he has an electrician coming over tomorrow, and it frankly just isn’t the best time in his life for something like that to go down.

If Kyungsoo sees any hint of Baekhyun’s internal crisis, he makes no comment. He just says, “Follow me.”

And Baekhyun, mystified, does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: This is set somewhere arbitrarily in the early 2000s, in a non-specific, made-up place. Any questions about setting will be ignored because I have no answers for you. I'm a fake writer, pls understand.
> 
> Title is loosely borrowed from ["Detail of the Woods"](https://poets.org/poem/detail-woods) by Richard Siken.


	2. Otherworld

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He pulls Baekhyun by the arm, saying, “Here,” and tugging him to the side, firm but not forceful. Then he takes hold of Baekhyun’s head and turns it slightly. “Between the trees,” he says softly, hands falling away. “Right there.”
> 
> And Baekhyun looks.
> 
> And he sees.

They’re standing somewhere in the forest, god only knows how far from civilization. Kyungsoo’s staring intently at a tree, his eyes narrowed, jaw clenched in stubborn, silent frustration. He hasn’t said anything for what seems like several minutes. Baekhyun is too baffled and anxious to break the silence between them, so he just waits.

Where they are now, the foliage and swarms of insects are both at their thickest, and all the chirping and cooing and chortling sounds have grown louder than ever. No sign, though, of whatever home Kyungsoo was talking about. Maybe this guy’s lost his mind, Baekhyun thinks. Maybe they both have. Anything’s possible at this point.

“It’s gone,” Kyungsoo says.

“What?” says Baekhyun.

“There used to be an entrance here.” Kyungsoo steps forward, reaching out to the tree in front of him. He presses his palm flat against the bark. “They moved it.”

There doesn’t seem to be anything _to_ enter, as far as Baekhyun can tell. “Okay,” he says, “so what does that mean?”

For a long moment, Kyungsoo says nothing, does nothing. He’s nearly as motionless now as when Baekhyun first found him, save for the slight movement of his shoulders with every inward and outward breath. A faint glow begins to emanate from his hand, growing steadily and spreading over the surface of the tree. Baekhyun is beyond the point of knowing how to react to things now, so he just stares blankly at the hand, the tree, Kyungsoo himself. He tries to piece together the information in front of him to make sense of the situation, but comes up empty.

Magic exists, and Baekhyun, having seen it for himself, doesn’t know how to process that fact. He’d always sort of hoped for something like this, some evidence of the fantastical, because otherwise the world would be soul-suckingly dull and unspectacular. He’d believed it the way children do, taking all those myths and fairytales to heart and carrying them with him, always tucked hopefully away somewhere in the back of his mind. But now that it’s all here and real, and not some passing daydream to get him through the monotony of everyday life, he’s at a loss.

Kyungsoo, at least, is something tangible, whatever he is. In his flesh-and-bone form, he’s smaller, less regal, not so perfectly composed. He slouches—is slouching now, his spine curling traitorously—so much that Baekhyun would no longer mistake their heights as similar. Yet despite his small stature, there’s a quiet, understated authority about him, an almost magnetic force. His voice, too, holds power, with its low pitch, the steady flow of his words, the measured, thoughtful way that he speaks. But it’s also a soft voice, and Baekhyun finds himself having to listen closely to hear him over the clamor above.

“I have to find another entrance,” Kyungsoo says finally. The glow dissipates. He pulls his hand away. “There should be one nearby.”

With that, he starts walking again, without so much as a backward glance to make sure Baekhyun is following behind.

“Wait,” Baekhyun blurts out.

Kyungsoo stops and turns. His expression is patient, but the kind of patience that could wear thin at any moment. “Yes?”

“Before we go anywhere, I need—can you explain what’s going on?” Baekhyun’s nerves almost have him grinding his teeth out of habit. “Are you some kind of druid?”

“A what?”

“A druid. They do… nature magic? I think?” Admittedly, Baekhyun’s knowledge of _Dungeons & Dragons_ is mostly secondhand, and he’s only ever played Sorceress in _Diablo II_ , so he’s a bit fuzzy on the details. “And turn into bears and stuff?”

“I can’t transform, and I don’t know any magic,” says Kyungsoo.

“Okay, I just saw you do a weird thing with a tree, though. That’s _something_.”

“That’s magic to you?” Kyungsoo says with raised eyebrows. “Then I guess I can do a little. Nothing like the witches, though.”

“ _Witches?_ ” Baekhyun says incredulously.

Shaking his head once again, Kyungsoo says, “We should keep going. It would take too long to explain everything.” He turns on his heel and starts walking again.

“You can’t just bring up witches and not—fine, yeah, whatever.” Baekhyun huffs and follows stumblingly behind.

It’s a mystery to Baekhyun, how Kyungsoo manages to walk barefoot through this untamed wilderness. Every few steps there’s a new obstacle to trip over, often in the form of raised tree roots or fallen branches, obscured by shadows and shrubbery. It’s as though the forest was made to be an intentional nuisance to anyone traveling through it, like it’s warding off intruders. But maybe all forests are just like this; Baekhyun wouldn’t know.

They walk for some indeterminable period—five miserable minutes or an hour, or some terrible space in between—during which time Baekhyun, between mortifying near-falls, manages to get a faceful of spiderweb and also steps in something unidentifiable and squishy. When he lets out a noise of horrified disgust, Kyungsoo pauses and glances back at him questioningly, not seeming to have a single hair out of place himself. Perfectly unruffled.

Baekhyun’s discomfort is quickly replaced with embarrassment. “I don’t get out much,” he says, feeling the need to explain himself, “so I’m, uh, not great with nature.”

“There shouldn’t be anything dangerous here,” says Kyungsoo. “As long as you follow me and don’t eat any plants you don’t recognize, you’ll be fine.”

“Shouldn’t be anything dangerous?” Baekhyun echoes as they start moving again. He’s already mostly forgotten about whatever terrible thing he stepped in. “So you’re saying there could be?”

“Things might have changed while I was asleep. The wolves’ territory has always fluctuated. But I don’t see any signs of them now, and I doubt we’ll see any bears.”

At this, Baekhyun glances around anxiously, but sees only trees in every direction. “What if we do?” he asks, thinking about every cautionary tale he’s heard about bear attacks.

“You’ll be fine,” Kyungsoo repeats. “Anyway, we’re almost there.”

“If you say so,” says Baekhyun. “Y’know, I still haven’t seen anything that looks like a place where people live. Is it underground or something?”

“No,” Kyungsoo says, then doesn’t make any effort to elaborate on his answer.

“You’re not a fan of talking, huh?” Baekhyun guesses.

“There isn’t much to say.”

Thinking about the questions he’s tried to ask, Baekhyun says, “I’m gonna call bullshit on that.”

“Then no, I don’t like talking,” Kyungsoo says dryly.

Baekhyun snort-laughs. “To me, or in general?”

“Whichever you want to believe.” After a few beats, he says, “It seems like the quiet bothers you.”

“Well. Not sure I’d call this quiet.” Baekhyun frowns up at the branches overhead, despite the danger of losing his balance. With the luck he’s had here so far, he’s amazed he hasn’t gotten shat on yet. “Are there always this many birds here?”

“No,” says Kyungsoo. “They’re following me.”

“Okay? Is that… bad?”

“No. They know what I am and they’re curious.” Then he asks, “Are they bothering you?”

“A little, I guess. There’s just a lot of them.”

Without another word, Kyungsoo lets out a shrill whistle, so sudden it becomes the latest thing to make Baekhyun jump out of his skin in surprise. And just like that, there’s a rush of dozens of wings as they all take flight at once, leaving branches swaying and sending a scattering of leaves and pine needles to the ground. Baekhyun looks quickly down when a leaf nearly hits his eye. Now there are still things buzzing somewhere nearby, and chirping audible in the distance, but it’s otherwise silent.

The first thing Baekhyun thinks to say is, “You can talk to birds?”

“Not conversationally,” Kyungsoo says. And Baekhyun has to give him credit: He’s consistent in how vague and unhelpful he is.

“This is really weird for me, just so you know,” says Baekhyun. “This whole situation. You were a statue, and now you’re a guy, and you talk to birds kind of. And the glowy thing. And you still haven’t said where we’re going, so I’m actually a little worried you’re gonna kill and eat me in a ritual sacrifice.”

“That’s disgusting,” says Kyungsoo. “And I told you, we’re going home. My home.”

“But _why?_ Because I saved you? I didn’t do that on purpose,” Baekhyun argues. “I’m glad you’re alright, don’t get me wrong, but I’m not a hero.”

Kyungsoo spares him a brief backward glance, then says, “It doesn’t matter why you did it. It happened, so we owe you a debt now. But if you don’t want anything, you don’t have to come.”

“We’ve gotten this far. I’m not gonna turn back now. Plus,” Baekhyun adds, “I have a nonexistent sense of direction, so I’d get lost and die if I tried going back on my own.”

Kyungsoo hums, as if in understanding or even agreement. Before, with the birds, Baekhyun probably wouldn’t have heard the sound.

Moments later, Kyungsoo says, “We’re here,” but there’s still nothing: trees, trees, more trees. Bushes and mossy rocks, and a smallish creek a short distance away, and nothing else at all. If there’s anything here, it would have to be underground, which Baekhyun has some reservations about. He doesn’t have the chance to voice his skepticism, though, as Kyungsoo turns and looks at him expectantly.

Hesitating, Baekhyun takes a few steps forward to stand beside him. He peers around, but it’s all just forest, and he can’t help the wave of disappointment that courses through him. He doesn’t know what Kyungsoo sees, or _thinks_ he sees, but there’s only—

“No,” says Kyungsoo. “You’re looking in the wrong places.” He pulls Baekhyun by the arm, saying, “Here,” and tugging him to the side, firm but not forceful. Then he takes hold of Baekhyun’s head and turns it slightly. “Between the trees,” he says softly, hands falling away. “Right there.”

And Baekhyun looks.

And he sees.

Impossibly, there’s a path that opens with posts on either side, carved stone poles situated between a pair of trees in front of them. Past that, down a rock-lined road of dirt, there are structures, buildings, some on the forest floor while others extend up into the canopy, connected by spiraling stairways and rope bridges. And there are people, so many people, all going about their lives like they haven’t noticed the new arrivals, or else don’t care.

Baekhyun steps to the side, back to where he was before, and looks in the same direction, sure that he just missed it earlier. But there’s nothing, just like before, like what he just saw was never there. He steps again, back to where Kyungsoo directed him, and the impossible civilization returns. It’s almost, he thinks dizzily, like one of those _Magic Eye_ pictures he got so frustrated with as a kid, because he never learned the angle to look at them from and would just end up crossing his eyes and not seeing anything. A picture is one thing, but a whole population? A village or town or city? He’s utterly dumbstruck, heart racing with baffled wonderment.

“It’s called Luna,” says Kyungsoo. “This is where I live.”

“How,” says Baekhyun, because that’s all he can manage.

“It’s not really a part of this world,” says Kyungsoo, “but not separate from it, either. There are ways in if you know where to look.”

“Oh,” says Baekhyun.

“I can explain more later. We should get going.”

Kyungsoo’s hand is a light pressure on Baekhyun’s back, not pushing so much as guiding, and he walks numbly, stupidly forward, toward the dirt path just ahead.

As they near the settlement, Baekhyun gazes up at the strange wooden structures among the trees. Then realization dawns, and he sees that they _are_ the trees, walls all made of twisting and arching trunks and branches. The ones solidly on the ground have been formed from narrow trunks merging together in careful patterns. He stares in fascination at them, then at the people, who are dressed much the same as Kyungsoo, though their robes are longer and less rich in color, and lacking in delicate patterns.

Finally, they seem to take notice of Kyungsoo and Baekhyun, some looking over in mild surprise while others stop in their tracks to gawk. An old woman drops a woven basket and claps both hands over her mouth in shock. A man lets out a strangled shout and runs clumsily away. People start whispering urgently. There are a few children around, too, but none seem interested in what’s happening.

Kyungsoo sighs. He hasn’t stopped moving them forward. “At least they know who I am,” he murmurs, only loud enough for Baekhyun to hear. Then he adds, perhaps for his own benefit, “It can’t have been too long.”

“So who are you?” Baekhyun murmurs back. “Some kind of royalty or something?”

There’s no reply for several long seconds, after which Kyungsoo says quietly, “Yes.”

“Of course you are,” says Baekhyun, because it’s just been that kind of day.

 

 

 

Kyungsoo— _Prince_ Kyungsoo—was born the second child of the royal family, but first child to his mother, the queen, which made him her natural heir. He was raised to lead, and lead fairly. If the council of advisers thought him unfit to rule, then the next in line, also schooled in bureaucracy from a young age, would take his place. Then, after a long reign, he was expected to step down once his successor was ready to take the throne. Simple. Less simple when Kyungsoo’s been away for some indeterminate time, but there’s a system in place for everything.

This is all explained to Baekhyun on their way to the Royal Hall, the largest building he’s seen yet in the sprawling community. The trees comprising it are thicker than the others, and their branches tangle together in an intricate web to form a roof. Dozens of gaps shaped like rounded diamonds are dotted around the walls like little windows. The beauty of it is breathtaking to Baekhyun, even before they’ve entered.

“How do you make buildings out of trees?” he asks as they approach the front entrance, an exceptionally large opening that’s draped with deep green curtains in place of doors.

“We sing to them,” says Kyungsoo. “They grow the way we ask them to.”

He says this like it’s the simplest thing in the world. For someone who claims not to do any magic, it seems to Baekhyun like Kyungsoo can do quite a lot of magic-adjacent things. He’d comment snarkily on this, but they’re already at the entryway, where Kyungsoo holds one of the curtains aside for Baekhyun to step through the threshold. He does, gaping in awe and disbelief at his surroundings, all compulsions of sass forgotten anyway.

He’d thought the outside was impressive, but the inside of the hall is incomparable. There are rows of pillars leading down the length of the bustling room, made up of slender trunks that emerge from holes in a polished floor, surrounded by clusters of golden yellow flowers. The far wall is covered in a blanket of ivy whose vines loop through the little window holes like thread. In front of the wall: a dais with three thrones, all empty. The sides of the room, between the pillar-trees and walls, are lined with long tables that, as Baekhyun watches, are being piled with trays of food. It’s fairytale-esque.

“Dinner soon,” says Kyungsoo, stealing Baekhyun’s attention back. “We should find my—” He audibly falters. “Whoever’s ruling.”

And Baekhyun knows what Kyungsoo meant and why he didn’t say it: _We should find my mother, if she’s still alive._ He doesn’t comment on it, instead following closely behind as Kyungsoo walks the length of the hall at a determined pace, surprisingly quick for someone so small. They avoid running into any of the people preparing the room, though only just; there are a few close calls as Baekhyun dodges around, a good deal less nimble than his companion once again.

Near the back of the room, they turn and go through a smaller doorway that has its curtain pinned back, entering into a side room where a dozen or so people are seated in a circle on the floor, lit by beams of sunlight pouring in through the ceiling above. Baekhyun stumbles to an immediate stop when he sees them all staring, looking very much as though they were in the middle of something and have been suddenly interrupted. He can’t help but feel he’s an unwelcome intruder, both in this room and among these people.

Unbothered as ever, Kyungsoo continues a few steps further than Baekhyun. His head turns slowly like he’s surveying the room. Then he stills, and after a pause says, “Changmin?”

A man who must be in his forties, or very gracefully in his fifties, goes suddenly rigid. His jaw drops, eyes round as coins. He pales like he’s seen a ghost.

“Your—” He stutters helplessly a few times, eventually choking out, “Your Highness,” in a tone that’s very nearly a question.

The others in the room react now with varying degrees of theatricality. Some gasp; one stifles a cry; an especially wispy man promptly faints. Baekhyun, despite his confusion, thinks absently that the guy’s lucky he was already on the floor.

The one Kyungsoo called Changmin scrambles to his feet. Ignoring the others in the room—which is quite the feat, considering—he moves forward, crossing the distance between him and Kyungsoo in a few shaky strides and pulling him into a tight hug. It takes just a second for Kyungsoo to less frantically return the embrace. It’s almost comical how Changmin towers over the younger man, but he’s made himself somehow very small. Baekhyun feels more than ever like he’s intruding on something he shouldn’t be.

Once the two part, Kyungsoo asks, “How long?” He doesn’t clarify what he’s referring to. There’s no need. They all know, even Baekhyun.

Someone lets out a sob. Without thinking, Baekhyun finds himself holding his breath in anticipation.

Changmin looks away. He says, “Twenty-two years,” tone riddled with guilt and apology.

Silence.

Kyungsoo, whose face Baekhyun is slightly thankful he can’t see, says at length, “I see.” Then another pause, then he asks, “My mother?”

Baekhyun considers himself fairly adept at reading people. He can tell when a person’s faking calm, when their composure is a hair from its breaking point. To Kyungsoo’s credit, the lie of his impassivity is almost convincing, but Baekhyun can tell the difference. He knows the wrong answer to this question would break the man; he just doesn’t know how, because all he’s seen of Kyungsoo so far has been self-assuredness and perfect control and, perhaps intentionally, nothing else at all.

“Stepped down a year after you disappeared,” says Changmin. “She’s across the river now. I don’t know where.”

There’s a river cutting through Moonwood Forest, the Gilding, which acts as a border for the nearest human city. Baekhyun wonders if it’s the same river. Wonders, too, how far it is from here—how far Kyungsoo’s mom is.

“I see,” Kyungsoo says again, less fragilely now. He straightens to his full, not-so-considerable height. “And who replaced her?”

Changmin visibly hesitates. He’s still avoiding Kyungsoo’s gaze, and the shaken look he had when the man entered hasn’t entirely left him yet. “Chanyeol, sir,” he says.

“Oh, fuck’s sake,” Kyungsoo mutters, catching Baekhyun by surprise with the unexpected outburst of profanity.

“His niece is preparing to succeed him,” says Changmin. “Her Highness Princess Yerim—”

“Where is he?” Kyungsoo cuts in. “I need to speak with him.” After the briefest pause, he adds curtly, “Now.”

Changmin nods. He calls out, “Dongyoung?”

Seconds later, a nervous-looking, sort of squirrelly boy in his late teens comes all but tumbling through another entrance to the room. “Yeah?” He shakes his head quickly, then says, as though correcting himself, “You called?” Then he glances at Baekhyun, blinking rapidly, then at Kyungsoo, then at Baekhyun again. It makes sense, as Baekhyun’s sort of the odd one out here.

“This is His Highness Prince Kyungsoo,” says Changmin. “Please take him and”—he’s looking at Baekhyun now, too, with a furrowed brow, like he’s only just noticing him and hasn’t decided what to think—“his guest to His Majesty’s private audience room.”

Dongyoung does a double-take, now adopting the look of shock everyone else has had when seeing Kyungsoo. “The— _the_ Prince Kyungsoo?” His eyes are bush baby wide. “It—yes, of course.” He bows quickly to Kyungsoo, then, after some hesitation, to Baekhyun as well. “Right this way,” he squeaks, then all but scurries off, back through the doorway he entered from.

Sighing, Kyungsoo follows after him, while Baekhyun stays momentarily frozen in place. He looks around at all the traumatized faces in the room, at the now conscious man who’s being fretted over, and feels a bit responsible. He bows, mumbles an apology, darts away to follow Kyungsoo and the kid.

They pass through a short hallway, then they’re back outside. Baekhyun picks up his pace to a light jog to catch up with Kyungsoo. From beside him, he can see the man’s expression, the solemn, tight line of his mouth. Not in crisis, but no longer the controlled, serene figure he walked the forest with earlier.

Baekhyun decides to take a risk and ask, “So who’s Chanyeol and why do you hate him?” He keeps his voice low, not wanting that Dongyoung kid to overhear, just in case.

Kyungsoo looks at him sidelong. “I don’t hate him,” he says, similarly quiet. “He’s—he was my best friend.”

“You didn’t seem happy to hear he was the king,” says Baekhyun.

“He was third in line before I left. The only way he would succeed to the throne would be if our cousin Jongin didn’t, or couldn’t.” He presses his lips together again, thinning them into an unimpressed line for a moment. “I’ll ask about that later. But Chanyeol wasn’t supposed to rule.”

“Why?” asks Baekhyun. “Is there something wrong with him?”

“No. But he was an architect.”

They’ve reached a building now, roughly the size of Baekhyun’s own house. Dongyoung pulls back a vivid blue curtain and stands off to the side.

“His Majesty will be here soon,” he says. “Please, um, make yourselves comfortable.”

Kyungsoo bows his head slightly. “Thank you, Dongyoung.” He enters without another word.

“Yeah, uh, thanks,” says Baekhyun, offering a smile that Dongyoung meets with a look of paralyzed anxiety. Awkward, Baekhyun walks through the doorway as well.

It looks similar to the room they entered with the circle of people, but larger, and decorated with stone statues and clusters of multicolored flowers. Baekhyun squints at the statues, owls, wondering if they, too, were alive once. He thinks he’ll probably wonder that about every statue he ever sees from now on.

Kyungsoo’s walked over to a corner, where there’s a pile of things that look like cushions. He picks one up, says, “Here,” then tosses it to Baekhyun, who just barely catches it. He picks up another and walks back to the center of the room, where he more or less throws it to the ground, stirring up a cloud of dust before he sinks down onto it. Baekhyun lets his own cushion drop next to Kyungsoo’s and tries to copy the way he’s seated.

“So,” says Baekhyun. “An architect. He built things?”

“He played music for the trees,” says Kyungsoo. “Sang to them. Made them do beautiful things.” His words are weighty and sorrowful, but also bitter as he stares narrow-eyed at the wall ahead of them. “Making him king was a waste. The council would have known that.”

Baekhyun feels a sudden pang in his chest, hot and sharp and stabbing. It hits a little too close to home for him, as someone who’s been told repeatedly that it was a waste of a beautiful voice for him not to be a singer. His high school choir director had always applauded him on his stability, his technique, his vocal color. He did musical theater for years, too, even into college, where people would comment so often on his voice and stage presence, and ask why he wasn’t a performing arts major, why he was in _marketing_ , of all things. And eventually the arguments about salaries and job security felt a little hollow to him, too. He ran out of excuses for not doing something that suited him so well.

And while Baekhyun loved being on stage, the truth is that the stage loved Baekhyun even more. Every aspect of the work agreed with him: doing nonsense vocal warmups with the rest of the cast, caking on layers of exaggerated makeup, feeling a burst of adrenaline when he rushed to change costumes mid-scene, breaking the fourth wall to smile knowingly at the giggling audience when something went wrong. Practicing lines until they feel like they were his. Watching sets get put up and methodically torn down again. Seeing their work come to life, the product of all their sweat and tears and, yes, sometimes blood culminating in something bigger than themselves. It would have been something worth committing himself to.

And that’s what had frightened him away from it, that idea of chasing something that mattered so significantly to him. If you love something too much and it doesn’t work out, what are you left with after that? He didn’t have an answer, so he didn’t stay to find out. He got his degree, moved back in with his parents, fell into an endless malaise and never did anything at all. And now here he is, so none of it mattered anyway. It really was just a waste.

“That sucks,” he says, insufficiently. “Why didn’t he just turn it down?”

“The fourth in line was a child,” says Kyungsoo. “I don’t think Chanyeol had much choice.”

There’s a heavy pause where neither of them says anything. Baekhyun just looks around the room, from the white and soft yellow and rosy-pink flowers to the slightly raised platform just ahead, a square of stone that’s maybe two feet wide. It’s dimmer in here than in the hall, the roof solid and windows small.

Baekhyun says, “Sorry about how things ended up.”

Kyungsoo turns his head sharply. He looks startled, solemn frown broken at last. “Sorry?” he echoes. “Why?”

“Things seem like they’re not going great for you right now,” says Baekhyun. He trails fingers over the floor of even, tightly-packed dirt, streaking the lightest of lines through it. “And I’m the one who brought you back, so.” He shrugs.

From the corner of his eye he sees Kyungsoo touch a hand to his chest. When Baekhyun follows the motion, he doesn’t focus on Kyungsoo, but on the careful stitching in his robes, swirls of white that flow over the blue fabric like those curling vines of ivy. His gaze stays there, mesmerized, even when Kyungsoo lowers his hand and begins to speak.

“I was caught in a restless sleep for twenty-two years before you found me,” says Kyungsoo. “I couldn’t wake up, and I didn’t dream, or think, or feel.” He takes in a deep breath and lets it go again. “I’m alive again. No matter what happens from here, I don’t want you to apologize, Baekhyun.”

Baekhyun doesn’t know what to say to that. He feels himself getting misty-eyed, though, and it makes him prickle with embarrassment. He tries to sniffle inconspicuously, blinking away the sudden emotions.

There’s only a short moment of peace before a furious pounding of bare feet can be heard just outside, and someone comes bursting through the curtain, tall and wild-eyed and panting, similar in age and unnecessary height to Changmin. His eyes fix immediately on Kyungsoo.

“What the fuck,” says the stranger. “Kyungsoo, what the _fuck_.”

“Chanyeol,” Kyungsoo says calmly. “Ah, pardon me—Your Majesty.”

“Fuck off,” Chanyeol snaps.

He marches over, sinks to the ground, and throws himself on Kyungsoo in a dramatic, forceful hug, then bursts into tears and incoherent sobbing. Kyungsoo sits there awkwardly, a hand hovering by Chanyeol’s shoulder like he’s uncertain whether to comfort him. Baekhyun, meanwhile, tries to scoot with his cushion a bit further from the two, having had to lean away when Chanyeol almost knocked Kyungsoo into him.

After some hesitation, Kyungsoo seems to finally settle on rubbing Chanyeol’s back. He murmurs something that seems like a reassurance, but then adds, louder and harsher, “I’m serious, you’re too fucking heavy.”

Chanyeol pulls back and moves to sit in front of Kyungsoo, sitting on his heels. His face is red and tear-streaked, and he’s hiccupping between loud sniffles. Now Baekhyun can see the crown on his head, the same silver and pearlescent materials as Kyungsoo’s pendant making up its twisting stems and delicate flowers. His robes don’t have the same pretty stitching as Kyungsoo’s, and the silk is a dreamy lilac, but they’re still elegant and fine.

“What happened?” Chanyeol croaks. “Was it the witch?” He sucks in a sharp breath. “Shit. You haven’t aged at all.”

“I was trapped,” says Kyungsoo. “His familiar tricked me into letting go of the Star. It left me vulnerable to their magic.” He gestures to Baekhyun. “This human saved me, Chanyeol.”

“A human?” says Chanyeol, regarding Baekhyun with awe. “How?”

“He was a statue,” says Baekhyun, feeling it’s an appropriate time for him to speak up at last. “I found a necklace and put it on him. It—I knew it didn’t belong to me, so I had to put it somewhere?” It sounds stupid when he says it aloud. “Just dumb luck, I guess.” He almost appends a belated _Your Majesty_ to it, but he just saw this guy break down in hysterical tears, so it feels like they’re past the need for that level of formality now.

“Luck or not, I still want him compensated for what he’s done,” says Kyungsoo.

Chanyeol nods, wiping a sleeve over his mussed face. “Sure, sure. Fine.” He’s still crying, tears continuing to leak steadily down his cheeks, but thankfully not sobbing anymore. “Before that, we should tell everyone the news.”

“Later,” says Kyungsoo. “First, I have questions.”

“Can’t that wait?” Chanyeol looks momentarily horrified. “We spent over twenty years thinking you were dead, Soo.”

“And I spent that time as a rock,” Kyungsoo says impatiently. “I think I’ve earned the right to decide how we do this.”

“He’s got a point,” Baekhyun mutters, earning a glare from Chanyeol.

“Word’s already spreading from the people who saw you come in,” says Chanyeol. “I heard them talking about a _Ghost Prince_ on my way here. The people who care about you deserve to see you for themselves, not find out from some rumors.”

“He’s also got a point,” Baekhyun stage whispers.

He’s wholly ignored by them both. Kyungsoo says, “I don’t want to see anyone until I understand the situation. You know I don’t like surprises.”

“What about Jongdae?” Chanyeol says almost pleadingly.

There’s a pin-drop silence. Something in the air changes. Chanyeol wilts, like a child waiting to be scolded. Like he isn’t older and taller and broader than his old friend by a substantial degree. His eyes flick over nervously to Baekhyun, suddenly conscious that they’re having this conversation in front of a stranger.

But Kyungsoo—Kyungsoo’s face is blank, devoid of whatever anger Chanyeol appears to anticipate. He moves his mouth haltingly, without any words coming out, like he’s trying to say something but doesn’t know how. He licks his lips, clears his throat.

“What about him?” Kyungsoo says, his façade of control even weaker than it was just a bit ago, back in the room with Changmin.

“Doesn’t he deserve to know?”

Baekhyun knows he’s missing something, but he couldn’t even begin to guess what. Whoever this Jongdae is, the mere mention of him has rendered Kyungsoo speechless and vulnerable. Curiosity and guilt war inside Baekhyun as he watches Kyungsoo blink rapidly.

Another clearing of the throat. “Not now,” says Kyungsoo, firm and final, brooking no argument. “Tell me what happened to Jongin.”

Chanyeol sighs, shifting around to sit cross-legged. He scratches one of his oddly-shaped ears. If he’d been the first one of these people Baekhyun had seen, he would’ve assumed they were elves—though thinking about it, maybe they are. Kyungsoo wasn’t very forthcoming about what not-human thing he is.

“He and your mom talked it over after you disappeared,” says Chanyeol. “It was hard for him. For all of us,” he adds, “but you know how sensitive he is.”

“He wasn’t ready,” Kyungsoo fills in.

“He needed to find some peace, and he couldn’t do that with the pressure of ruling a kingdom. They decided priesthood would be a better fit. So. That’s where I came in.”

“And you haven’t burned the place to the ground, I notice,” says Kyungsoo. “I’m almost impressed.”

Chanyeol chuckles a little. “My temper’s gotten better,” he says. “It was a rough start, but I think I’ve done an alright job. Best I could, at least.”

“I’m sure,” says Kyungsoo. “Changmin said Yerim’s taking your place?”

“Yeah, think she’ll be ready in the next couple of years. She’s a smart kid.” There’s no small amount of pride in Chanyeol’s voice. “I already know she’ll do better than I have.”

Kyungsoo hums noncommittally. “And Mom?” he asks.

“Visits every Feast Day, but she’s retired to the summer orchard,” says Chanyeol. “She remarried, you know. They seem happy together.”

“Good,” says Kyungsoo. “I’m glad she—”

“Jongdae has a family,” Chanyeol cuts in. “Wife and two kids. You don’t like surprises, so I’m telling you now.”

Silence reigns again. The discomfort Baekhyun feels is a palpable thing in his stomach, his nerves all crawling.

“Good,” Kyungsoo repeats. Then, “It’s time for dinner, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” says Chanyeol. “I can have—”

“We’ll change clothes to blend in,” says Kyungsoo. “There should be something in Baekhyun’s size lying around.”

“I’m not sure how I’m supposed to blend in,” Baekhyun chimes in. “I don’t have—you know.” He gathers a fistful of his hair in demonstration. It’s a good deal shorter than everyone else’s he’s seen, too much so to pin back in one of those perfect buns.

“We’ll say you’re visiting from another kingdom,” Chanyeol says dismissively. “If anyone asks, just tell them you’re from Krystalis.”

Baekhyun frowns. “Why not just say I’m human?” Then he thinks to ask, “What even _are_ you guys, anyway?”

“Most of them haven’t seen a human before,” says Kyungsoo. “It could scare them.” He doesn’t address Baekhyun’s second question at all.

“And no one from Luna’s been outside its borders for a while,” says Chanyeol, “so no one can call you out on the lie.” Also, it should be said, not answering the other question.

Chanyeol calls Dongyoung back in, sends him for robes for the other two, then tells Kyungsoo tiredly, “Everyone’s already suspicious. They’ll talk.”

“We’ll eat with people our age,” says Kyungsoo. “They won’t recognize me.” He says it like a reassurance, a promise.

“Then the east garden’s where you should go,” says Chanyeol. “We’ll meet back here in an hour.”

“Alright,” Kyungsoo says with a satisfied nod. “Then it’s settled.”

Baekhyun, still lost as ever, just sighs.

 

 

 

The robes Baekhyun is given aren’t as fine as what Kyungsoo or Chanyeol wore, but they’re soft and cream-colored, and the fabric breathes well. He takes off his shoes and socks reluctantly, thinking about the havoc this will wreak on his soles, but also knowing he can’t get away with walking around this place in Adidas tennis shoes.

Kyungsoo is dressed similarly, his shorter and more ornate robes traded in for long, plain peach ones. He’d explained to Baekhyun that he was cursed in the summer, when shorter clothes were more sensible. It would look silly to wear them now.

“And it’s too obvious they belong to someone in the royal line,” he says now, in the middle of re-tying his hair. He’s let it down to pull it back into a ponytail instead. It is, Baekhyun thinks with the smallest bit of envy, very lovely hair, long and shiny and voluminous. “Shades of blue are associated with my family.”

“Your robes actually looked nicer than the king’s,” Baekhyun says. “I saw the embroidery. It was really pretty.”

Kyungsoo’s mouth pulls into a half-smile. It’s the first pleasant face Baekhyun’s seen on him yet, and the change is jarring; his prominent features make every expression all the more noticeable, from his wide, sharp eyes and thick brows to the fullness of his lips. Hard to believe this is the same person who’s been alternating between empty gazes and severe frowns this entire afternoon.

“Thanks,” he says. “I stitched it myself.”

Baekhyun’s jaw drops. “Did you really? How?”

“I’ve had a lot of practice. I like embroidering.” Kyungsoo adjusts the belt of his robe, tugging lightly on it. “Chanyeol never had the patience for it, and he always said his hands were too big and clumsy. He preferred making music and sculpting.”

“And singing to trees,” Baekhyun adds.

“And that,” says Kyungsoo.

Both ready, they exit the house-sized building and go down a gentle slope. The garden that Chanyeol mentioned isn’t far; Kyungsoo indicates it with a nod, saying, “We’re going to that clearing down the hill.”

There are a few rows of what look like picnic tables, a couple dozen people seated at them on long benches. Two sides of the clearing are bordered by the garden in question, the plants all vibrant and densely collected. It looks like the meal’s just started, a small few people still milling about.

Hardly anyone spares them a second glance as they sit down in open spots at the end of one table. The woman on Baekhyun’s other side raises her eyebrows wordlessly at him.

“Hi,” he says, smiling sunnily at her.

“Hi,” she replies slowly, like he’s an absolute weirdo.

Well. Nothing he can do about that. He turns to Kyungsoo, who’s piling an earthenware plate with foods Baekhyun doesn’t recognize. He’s just relieved to see it doesn’t look like the technicolor goo from _Hook_. Kyungsoo sets the first plate in front of Baekhyun without a word, then starts on another, likely for himself.

“Oh, thanks,” says Baekhyun, taken aback. He looks down at the food, and while he can vaguely make out some individual components—berries, mushrooms, some kind of fish, leafy greens—he doesn’t know what any of it really is, and the only utensil that’s been provided for him is a wide spoon. “Um. So.”

“Hold on,” says Kyungsoo, still fixing his own plate. He cranes his neck to look at something across the table. “Stew?” he asks with a glance to Baekhyun.

“Yes?” says Baekhyun, then watches as Kyungsoo gets up, grabs a couple of small bowls from nearby, and uses them like ladles to scoop portions of a mysterious reddish-brown stew from a steaming pot.

After returning to his seat, Kyungsoo points to each thing on Baekhyun’s plate in turn, explaining what it is and demonstrating how to eat it with his own food. He waits for a verdict from Baekhyun for each thing, too, seeming interested in what it all tastes like to someone who’s never had it. And really, most of it’s good—earthy, sometimes sweet, pungent like onion at times, but not in a bad way. The only thing Baekhyun has to give up on after one bite is some kind of pickled vegetable, too vinegary to stomach.

While they’re eating, someone across the table says, “Wait, don’t I know you?”

Baekhyun feels Kyungsoo freeze up beside him. When he looks up, though, the woman who spoke is looking at Baekhyun, gaze curious. She has a serious yet sweet kind of face, honest-looking, but with clever eyes. Pretty. Intimidating, though.

“Me?” Baekhyun asks through a small mouthful of fish. Kyungsoo relaxes and resumes eating.

“Aren’t you Jaehyun’s friend?” she asks.

“I’m not from here,” says Baekhyun. “You must be thinking of someone else.”

“Where are you from?” asks the woman next to him, the one who’d looked at him skeptically when he sat down.

“I—” Fuck, Baekhyun’s forgotten the name of the place already.

“He just came here from Krystalis,” says Kyungsoo, and oh, right. That’s what it was.

“Really?” says one woman, at the same time that the other says, “Oh wow.” Then, “I’ve never met anyone from outside the kingdom.”

Chanyeol was right, then. That’s lucky. Baekhyun still doesn’t want to risk saying anything that could expose him, though, so he smiles politely and continues eating.

“What’s it like up there?” asks the one across from him.

So much for his plan. Baekhyun panics, looking to Kyungsoo for help.

“He’s a little shy,” Kyungsoo says apologetically, a lie if Baekhyun’s ever heard one. “I haven’t been able to get him to say much, either.”

“I’ll leave you alone, then,” the woman says with a kind smile. “Welcome to Luna.”

“Thank you,” Baekhyun mumbles, trying to play up the shyness.

He and Kyungsoo come to a wordless agreement that they shouldn’t stay much longer, as they both eat the rest of their food quickly, Kyungsoo taking the pickled monstrosity from Baekhyun’s plate silently in exchange for a stuffed mushroom from his own. They say polite goodbyes to the people they spoke to, then Kyungsoo shows Baekhyun where to leave their dishware so it can be cleaned later. After that, they start on their walk back to the place where they’re meeting Chanyeol.

The moment they’ve moved away from the crowd in the garden, Baekhyun asks lowly, “Should I leave you guys alone? It seemed like you had a lot of personal stuff to talk about.”

“We do,” says Kyungsoo, “but I don’t want to delve into any of it right now. If you’re there, he’s less likely to bring up… delicate issues.”

Like Jongdae, Baekhyun thinks. “So I’m your buffer. Got it.”

“We need to arrange payment for you anyway,” says Kyungsoo. “It would have to be a private ceremony now, or a public one later on, after everything’s taken care of.”

“Now would be easier,” says Baekhyun. “Just, you know, the next few days are pretty busy for me, with the electrician coming over and appliance delivery coming up, and anything could happen after that. Have to call someone about hooking up a washer and dryer, maybe get a satellite installed, and you don’t know what any of this means, do you.”

“Not even remotely,” says Kyungsoo.

“And you would’ve just let me kept talking and not said anything.”

“Probably.” Then, “You like talking. Who am I to deprive you of something that brings you joy?”

Baekhyun huffs. “If I weren’t in a magical forest city and having my whole worldview changed in amazing ways,” he says, “I’d be a little offended, you know.”

They’ve reached the building from before. This time, it’s Baekhyun who pulls the curtain back for them, while Kyungsoo chuckles and says, “I’m glad you’re having—” then cuts off abruptly, freezing in the doorway. He makes a sound like the breath has caught in his throat.

After a second, Baekhyun leans over to peer into the room himself, wondering what has Kyungsoo so absolutely stricken. He sees the king first, along with three other people—a woman and two men—who all look to be of an age. Baekhyun can’t tell which of them must have brought about this reaction. While he’s wondering at this, one of the men steps forward. Half a second later, Kyungsoo takes a small step back.

“Kyungsoo,” the man breathes. “It really is you.” He has soft eyes, sharp cheekbones, lips that curl gently at the corners. There’s a look on his face of utter disbelief.

After a pause, Kyungsoo chokes out one word: “Jongdae.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the architecture is based off of the real actual practice of [tree shaping](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tree_shaping), but with elements of magic, because this is a fantastical story and I can do whatever I want.
> 
> Jongdae's role was determined by a Twitter poll that I gave zero context for, so thanks to everyone who participated in that without knowing the Sadness™ they were contributing to! B)
> 
> Hopefully you enjoyed this enormous spew of exposition, haaa.


	3. Moonlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Jongdae grins, his eyes crinkle in a boyish way. He’s far from ugly, but Baekhyun thinks the man must have been striking when he was young, handsome in a sweet sort of way. It’s those eyes, that curling smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** This chapter focuses a lot on a past relationship, and has brief, non-explicit, blink-and-you'll-miss-it depictions of sex (not between Baeksoo).

Twenty-one years and nine months ago, the prince was sent to find a witch whose family wanted him to come back home. The witch had left for the human world, as they sometimes do, rebellious and full of wanderlust. And it wasn’t Kyungsoo’s responsibility to find him, not quite, but the only two people who knew the outer woods well enough to make the journey were himself and a royal cartographer. Kyungsoo, knowing how delicate the situation was, opted to go alone. But that’s not where the story starts.

To begin with, there was Jongdae.

They stole a night together in the dark of the forest. Overhead, the Moon waned. Kyungsoo laughed until Jongdae kissed him breathless, and the two struggled to shed their clothes when there was no space between them. Not another soul was around. For once, they didn’t have to move together in strained silence.

After, Kyungsoo panted heavily into Jongdae’s hot neck. The summer heat made their skin sticky and salt-tasting, worse the longer they stayed pressed together like this. But it was a safe, adoring warmth. He closed his eyes and could lose himself in Jongdae, the taste and smell and feel of him, the sound of his breathing. It made the already cumbersome love inside of Kyungsoo so heavy he was lazy with it, immovable.

“Too hot,” he heard Jongdae grumble, throat humming with the sound.

“Then move,” said Kyungsoo.

“After that?” Jongdae breathed out a laugh. “Gonna need a minute.”

Kyungsoo grinned and pressed his lips to Jongdae’s neck, his throat. “Only a minute?”

“Yeah,” Jongdae said huskily. “Better try harder to wear me out next time.”

Kyungsoo kissed him on the neck again, sleepily, and felt Jongdae squeeze his hand.

They lay together a long while, Kyungsoo prone on top of Jongdae, who trailed fingers up and down his back, murmured the names of constellations visible in the fragments of sky above. In moments like these, they could pretend this was the entire world. And for the short time they were there, it was.

When Jongdae began to shift under him, trying to push them both up, Kyungsoo pressed a hand down on his shoulder and said, “Wait. Not yet.”

“We’re not sleeping out here.”

“No,” Kyungsoo agreed, “I just want more time.”

“Which we can have in your bed,” said Jongdae, exasperation coloring his voice. “Come on. We’ll take a bath in the morning, too.”

“I’m leaving in the morning.” Kyungsoo’s nose skimmed along the line of Jongdae’s jaw. “Want you now.”

He heard Jongdae’s breath hitch as Kyungsoo’s teeth scraped against sensitive skin. In a low, breathy voice: “Alright. Then have me.”

By the time they were finished, aching and saturated with sweat, Kyungsoo was ready to fall asleep right there in the grass after all, on the blanket they’d made with their clothes. He dressed himself clumsily, with no small amount of help, and let himself lean into Jongdae on the walk back home.

“Still need to think of something,” he mumbled after a while.

“Hm?” said Jongdae.

“Your title.” Kyungsoo stifled a yawn with his fist. They were nearly there. “Mom said Prince Consort, but I don’t like it.”

“You’re not even king yet,” Jongdae said chidingly.

“I will be. Have to think about things like this now, while there’s still time,” Kyungsoo said, then sighed. “She told me she’s thinking of a spring coronation.”

“Spring?” Jongdae’s arm around Kyungsoo’s waist tightened.

“And a summer wedding,” Kyungsoo said apologetically, gut sinking. “Sorry. I should’ve—”

“So this time next year?”

“Mm.”

They were at Kyungsoo’s door now. Jongdae stopped short of going in, tugged Kyungsoo’s arm to pull him around. With one hand he held one of Kyungsoo’s; with the other, he cupped Kyungsoo’s cheek, thumb brushing softly against still-flushed skin. His smile was gentle, warm, tender. A smile that Kyungsoo realized, not for the first time, he’d be able to see nearly every day for the rest of his life. The thought made his heart soar, the cavity of his chest too small to contain it.

“Good,” Jongdae said, then kissed him sweetly, again and again.

The two of their bodies twined together as they slept, a knot of limbs. When Kyungsoo woke up in the morning, he stayed in bed a long time as he waited for Jongdae to stir, until he realized he couldn’t put off leaving anymore. He had a mission, after all, a solemn duty. So he pressed a kiss to Jongdae’s forehead, dressed himself in his navy robes, and left.

 

 

 

“He knew I was looking for him,” says Kyungsoo. He has his hands wrapped around a ceramic cup of steaming herbal tea. “I think he was getting desperate. It was stupid to follow the trail, but I couldn’t give up.”

“You should’ve told someone,” Jihyun says tiredly. Her eyes are as bright as ever, cheeks rounder with age, and her plaited hair is wrapped in a coil, no longer trailing whimsically down her back. “Any of us would have helped you.”

“I know you would have,” says Kyungsoo. “That’s why I didn’t ask you to.”

“Figures,” she mutters.

“No,” says Chanyeol, “I get it. I would’ve done the same thing.”

The four of them are sat in a lopsided shape in the audience room—lopsided because Jongin’s moved close to Kyungsoo, a protective arm draped around his shoulders. And it’s odd, because there was a time when Jongin sought him for comfort, not the other way around. But parenthood changes people, and so does loss. Turns shy and uncertain boys to the sorts of men who know what matters in life. So while Kyungsoo doesn’t lean into the touch, isn’t quite prepared to be comforted, he appreciates that it’s there.

They’re all trying to protect him in different ways, Kyungsoo’s noticed. Jihyun keeps glancing over at him, watching carefully, knowingly, assessing but saying nothing. The grasp of Jongin’s hand is firm and paternal, and he’s a quiet but solid presence at Kyungsoo’s side. Then there’s Chanyeol, who, in an uncharacteristic display of tact, isn’t pushing Kyungsoo, isn’t judging. Just listening, understanding, nodding along with a thoughtful frown.

And Jongdae has left, perhaps the most considerate act of all.

He hadn’t put up a fight when Chanyeol pulled him back, loosing Kyungsoo’s robes from his tentative grip. Hadn’t questioned it when Chanyeol introduced Baekhyun (who smiled in polite, uneasy confusion) and asked Jongdae to escort him to the shrine, even if Jongin would be the more obvious choice. He nodded, gaze lingering on Kyungsoo a second too long, and left. Chanyeol didn’t apologize afterward—he did it for a reason, he _knew_ —but took Kyungsoo in his arms and held him for a long moment, engulfing him entirely. Kyungsoo listened to the sound of blood rushing through his ears as he breathed raggedly into Chanyeol’s chest. His eyes were dry, but that was the most he could say.

“Nothing we can do about it now,” says Jongin, his voice still a subdued mumble. “We have to move forward.”

“And what does that look like?” asks Jihyun. “Do we change the line of succession?”

“No,” Kyungsoo says quickly. “Of course not.”

“Then what will you do?”

He’s thought about it a bit, these past few hours. He’s a fair gardener, knows his way around a few crafts, has a thorough enough knowledge of their legends for storytelling. Never had much talent for singing to the trees, but holds a tune well, allegedly. And he has steady hands, good for cartography, art, medicine, needlework.

“Anything you need me to,” he says now. “I don’t really mind.”

Jihyun clucks her tongue. “What if I told you there’s an opening for a new royal astronomer?”

Kyungsoo flinches.

“Jihyun,” Chanyeol warns.

“I’m not saying it to be cruel,” she says. “Jongdae’s eyesight isn’t getting any better. He’s talked about training a replacement, someone young enough—”

 _Young_. Right. None of them are young anymore except, impossibly, Kyungsoo. Apart from Chanyeol, they’re all parents, and not even of small children. Jihyun’s oldest is twenty, Jongin’s twins close to that, and Jongdae’s—Kyungsoo doesn’t know about Jongdae. He hasn’t asked, unsure he would want to know the timeline.

When Jihyun’s finished her justification, Kyungsoo says, stoically and against his better judgment, “If that’s really where you need me, I can do it.”

“No,” says Chanyeol. “What’s our next option?”

A sigh. “He’s already more familiar with the charts than any of the apprentices, Chanyeol,” says Jihyun.

“Alright, you can explain the situation to Jieun, then,” he replies tersely. “I’m sure it won’t be uncomfortable for her.”

“I’m just trying to be practical. It makes the most sense if—”

“Jieun?” Kyungsoo cuts in.

The two stop bickering at once. Jihyun looks to him with wide eyes, like maybe she’d forgotten he was there. Chanyeol just winces.

It’s Jongin who says quietly, “His wife.”

There’s no question of which _he_ Jongin’s talking about. Kyungsoo just nods mechanically and sips his tea, wishing the tiniest bit that he hadn’t asked.

“There’s always the nursery,” Jihyun says, hesitant now. “I don’t know how you are with kids, but they would never turn down help there.”

“We could use a chanter at the shrine, too,” Jongin offers.

“You just got a new one last month.” Jihyun frowns. “Taeyong, right?”

“We could use a better one,” Jongin amends.

“There’s also plenty of work at the orchard, if you’d rather go there,” says Chanyeol. “Live closer to your mom, maybe.”

“Maybe,” says Kyungsoo, knowing already that he won’t take the suggestion, or any of the others.

There are other practical matters to go over: where he’s staying, with his old rooms taken; what to tell the public; when and how to contact his mother; and the issue of the witch, who never came back, was never seen again, and could still be out there somewhere. Kyungsoo doesn’t especially want to talk about that last one, not when he promised discretion—and not with the last encounter and its consequences so fresh in his mind.

“We can figure the rest out later,” says Jihyun, cutting short an argument over the public perception of witches. “The Gifting should take priority tonight.”

Of course. The ceremony for Baekhyun. He’s likely done with the ritual cleansing by now, and ready to sit before the king. Waiting with Jongdae. Going to the shrine can’t be put off any longer, with night already falling. They’ll have to get going.

“Right,” says Chanyeol, “Kyungsoo’s friend.”

“He isn’t my friend,” says Kyungsoo, brow furrowing. “I haven’t even known him a full day.”

“You served him food,” says Chanyeol. “He’s your friend.”

The men leave for the shrine, parting ways with Jihyun, who has an early morning to look forward to. Before she goes, she gives Kyungsoo a final hug, murmuring, “If there’s anything I can do, let me know.”

“I will,” he says. “Thanks.”

She pulls away, her smile soft and eyes shining. Kyungsoo tries to return the smile, but can’t.

 

 

 

“Stop squirming.”

“I’m not.”

“I’m looking at you right now, and I can see you squirming.”

Baekhyun blinks his eyes open to cast a frown at the man in front of him. “You said we had to keep our eyes closed,” he accuses.

“I said _you_ had to,” says Jongdae, the barest hint of a smile ghosting over his lips. “I’m not the one who needs to meditate.”

“Well, I tried,” says Baekhyun. “Can we be done now?”

“Sure,” says Jongdae, then relaxes his posture, no longer sitting straight-backed on his heels. Seeing this, Baekhyun quickly follows suit, sitting cross-legged on the ornate rug. “Doesn’t matter to me.”

“You’re the one who said I had to do this in the first place.”

Shrugging, Jongdae says, “You’re supposed to, but what do I care if you do or not? I’m not a priest or royal.” He rolls one shoulder, stretching his arm. “I’ll just tell them you did it. Outcome’s the same either way.”

Which is a funny thing to hear from someone who just made him spend nearly an hour on different rituals. First, after they left the others, Jongdae took Baekhyun to the spring by the shrine, gave him a floral-smelling soap, and left him alone with orders to wash every inch of his skin—which he did, in water just short of scalding. Then he toweled off with a length of cottony fabric before being dressed in ceremonial robes, black and thinner than the previous ones, and somehow softer still. No underwear. He’s begun to suspect these people don’t wear any.

The cleansing now over with, Jongdae led him to the shrine proper, which contained an effigy of the goddess Luna. She was kneeling, her hands outstretched, smile benevolent. Concerns about statues still lingering in his mind, Baekhyun regarded the figure warily, even as Jongdae explained its significance.

“It’s meant to depict the moment when she brought life to the forest,” he’d said in a reverent, practiced way, like a tale learned by rote. “She borrowed light from the Moon and gave it to the trees, and in turn the trees spread that light to the beings who lived among them, bonding them all to each other. The humans who lived there became something greater. A few manifested the light so strongly they found they could do impossible things.

“The people of the forest loved the Goddess, but she couldn’t stay with them. She had to return to the Moon, which had grown lonely without her, because she was a part of it. Before she left, she put the last bit of moonlight she’d carried into a large outcrop of rock, and turned it all to moonstone. She said the essence of light in the stone would protect the forest’s children. Then she fashioned pieces of it into jewelry, which she gave to those most beloved to her, commanding them to care for her people.

“We call our kingdom Luna,” Jongdae finished, “because the gift of the Goddess created it. And because we love her, we had to honor that gift.”

Baekhyun stared up at the statue with newfound awe. He asked Jongdae, “What you were saying about jewelry—do you mean like the necklace Kyungsoo has? The star?”

Something almost imperceptible had passed over Jongdae’s face for just a moment. “Yeah,” he said. “Like that.”

He demonstrated to Baekhyun how to show deference to the Goddess, lighting candles at the base of the statue and bowing in prayer. There were parts of the prayer Jongdae told him to omit, ones that didn’t apply to him, but what he did do still felt significant, intimate.

Then came the meditation, which they’ve now learned Baekhyun fundamentally lacks the necessary patience for. He isn’t known for his ability to sit still. One of his greatest flaws.

“So what now?” Baekhyun asks. “Is there another step?”

“Nah,” said Jongdae. “Just have to wait for Yeol to get here.”

“Oh.”

Silence. Then Jongdae asks, “So, got any thoughts or questions?”

Baekhyun squints. “About what?”

“Anything. You’ve had a pretty weird day, I bet. And we’ve probably got some time to kill.”

Baekhyun mulls it over for a moment. “Okay,” he says, “so what are you guys, if you’re not human? I’ve asked a few times now and no one’ll tell me.”

When Jongdae grins, his eyes crinkle in a boyish way. He’s far from ugly, but Baekhyun thinks the man must have been striking when he was young, handsome in a sweet sort of way. It’s those eyes, that curling smile.

“Really?” says Jongdae. “The answer probably isn’t that interesting. We’re fae. Fairies, I think you call us.”

“Fairies,” Baekhyun echoes, faintly bemused. “Don’t fairies have… wings?”

“Clearly not.”

“Okay. Well. Yeah. Guess not.”

“Our kind don’t, at least,” Jongdae adds. “Every place is different. I only know how things are here, for us.”

Baekhyun nods along eagerly, glad to finally have that answered. “Alright, next question,” he says. “Why did it break that witch’s curse when I put Kyungsoo’s necklace back on him?”

“Didn’t I just tell you all about the light of the forest?” says Jongdae, amusement dancing in his eyes despite his audible exasperation. “It protects us. No magic can hurt us when we have it close by. Here, it’s all around us.” He starts to say something else, but pauses, then goes on to say, “Kyungsoo had the necklace because he needed to carry the light with him outside the kingdom.”

“But he dropped it,” says Baekhyun.

“I guess. I wasn’t there, so I couldn’t tell you what happened.”

Baekhyun hums. He contemplates now whether he should ask the obvious question, about Jongdae and Kyungsoo, even though it’s none of his business. Maybe, he thinks, he can tiptoe around the subject, find something out that way, without intruding outright.

“So what about you?” he asks. “What do you do?”

“Me?” says Jongdae, clearly surprised. “I’m an astronomer.”

“Okay, so I know what that means for humans,” says Baekhyun, “but what is it here?”

“Celestial bodies are important to how we live our lives. I study them, show the charts to the priests, and they organize prayers and blessings around the stars’ alignment. I also know when the Moon’s at its fullest, so our lunar ceremony every Feast Day can start at the right time.” He huffs out a laugh. “And there are less important things, too. Couples wanting to know what the sky looked like the day they met.”

“Are there a lot of calculations involved in that?” asks Baekhyun, thinking about what he knows of human astronomy.

“Not a lot,” says Jongdae. “I’ve been at it long enough that it’s mostly intuitive.”

“Right,” says Baekhyun. “Makes sense.”

“What about you?”

“Oh.” Baekhyun feels himself start to fidgeting anxiously. Hadn’t expected the question to be turned back on him, and doesn’t know what to say now that it has been. “I’m—I studied marketing, which is about knowing how to sell things to people, I guess? But I don’t do that. I don’t really do anything right now.”

Jongdae watches expectantly, urging him silently to go on.

“My grandparents lived in a house just outside the forest,” says Baekhyun. “They passed away recently. My parents were supposed to inherit the house, but they didn’t want it, so. I got it instead. Well,” he amends, “I didn’t _get_ it. I pretty much had to take it. And it’s kind of old and ugly, so I’m fixing it up. In theory.”

“That’s not nothing,” says Jongdae, which is kinder than Baekhyun thinks is necessary. “Sorry about your grandparents, though. Were you close?”

“Kind of,” says Baekhyun. “Close enough to miss them.”

Jongdae gives a sympathetic hum.

There’s a brief silence. Baekhyun worries he may lose his opportunity to snoop. He all but blurts, “The king said you have a family?”

Eyebrows raised impressively high, Jongdae says, “Did he?”

Wrong approach, but there’s no turning back now. “Yeah. Uh. Two kids, right?”

“Daughter and son,” says Jongdae, understandably a little guarded. “Any reason Chanyeol was talking about me?”

 _Wife and two kids. You don’t like surprises, so I’m telling you now_. “He was just getting Kyungsoo up to speed on things he missed, I guess?” Baekhyun shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “I wasn’t really paying attention.”

Jongdae doesn’t respond for a moment, just looks Baekhyun over consideringly. Eventually he asks, “And how did Kyungsoo react?”

Alarm bells are sounding in Baekhyun’s head. This is profoundly not his business, but now that he’s involved himself, there’s nothing he can really do. “He didn’t really say anything. Just changed the subject.” Something compels him to add, “He looked upset when Chanyeol said your name, though.”

With a dry laugh, Jongdae asks, “As upset as he did when he saw me?”

“More.” Then, “It didn’t sound like he wanted to see you.”

If this affects Jongdae at all, he does a good job of hiding it. He says, “Of course he didn’t.” Then he straightens in his seat, clears his throat. “Anyway, you asked about the kids. They’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he says, entirely earnest. “I don’t know what my life would be like without them.”

Baekhyun doesn’t know what to make of the man sitting in front of him. He seems kind, good-humored, fairly shrewd. Baekhyun likes him, from what little time he’s spent with him so far. Simultaneously, though, he realizes the mere mention of Jongdae’s name nearly drove Kyungsoo to a breaking point, the sight of him putting a look of horror in Kyungsoo’s eyes. It raises a lot of questions for Baekhyun, who feels compelled, obligated to take Kyungsoo’s side in whatever this is.

Not, of course, that it’s any of his business.

So for now, Baekhyun nods. “I can’t imagine what that’s like,” he says. “I’m happy for you, though.”

“Thanks.”

They lapse into silence, staying that way for several long moments before a voice can be heard outside.

 

 

 

The walk to the hillside the shrine is on isn’t long, though if Kyungsoo had his way it would be longer. He regards the dome-shaped building with dread. As they get closer, he spots a pile of clothes on a rock by the springs, recognizing them as the robes Baekhyun had worn for dinner.

“You don’t have to come,” Chanyeol murmurs for the second time.

“But I should,” says Kyungsoo. “He saved me, Chanyeol. It would be ungrateful if I didn’t go. Even if—” He cuts off, grimacing.

Chanyeol sighs.

“I’ll wait outside,” says Jongin. “Let me know when you’re done.” A provision of privacy, probably, not a show of cowardice.

“Sure,” says Chanyeol. Then, to Kyungsoo: “Good?”

Kyungsoo nods. He lets Chanyeol lead the way inside, reminding himself to stand straight and not hide, no matter how much his instincts are telling him to do just that, to make himself as small and unnoticeable as he can. He hears Chanyeol saying something, but doesn’t take in any of the words.

Then it’s the moment of truth, the doorway to the room of worship. Kyungsoo ducks past the curtain, holding his breath.

The first thing he notices is Baekhyun, draped in black and sitting casually in front of the effigy, facing toward them as they enter. He scrambles to sit up properly, then gives a sheepish smile.

In front of Baekhyun, with his back to the doorway, is Jongdae. While Baekhyun’s straightening his posture, Jongdae glances back over his shoulder. His expression is almost blank as he meets Kyungsoo’s eye, then turns to Chanyeol. His mouth spreads into a playful smile.

“Took your time getting here, huh?” says Jongdae. “The kid almost fell asleep.”

“ _Kid?_ ” Baekhyun parrots, indignant, while Kyungsoo clenches his jaw. “I’m twent—”

“We had a few things to figure out,” says Chanyeol, a brisk professionalism about him that Kyungsoo hadn’t seen until now. “Is he ready?”

“As he’ll ever be,” says Jongdae. His gaze flashes briefly back to Kyungsoo, smile still in place, then flicks away again. “Am I free to go?”

Chanyeol’s already making his way through the room. “If you want,” he says. “Jongin’s outside.”

“I’ll keep him company.”

With that, Jongdae clambers to his feet. The movement looks less easy, less graceful than Kyungsoo remembers it being. It hurts to notice things like that. Hurts, too, when they avoid each other’s eye as Jongdae walks past, a dull throb between Kyungsoo’s ribs.

He tries to put Jongdae out of his mind as Chanyeol fusses with Baekhyun, getting him into position so he’s kneeling in front of the Goddess and king both. Kyungsoo walks over to watch from the side, noting with absent amusement how Baekhyun keeps shifting around, like he can’t quite get comfortable.

“Baekhyun,” Chanyeol says solemnly, in what Kyungsoo assumes is his King Chanyeol voice. “For saving the life of a prince of Luna, you are owed a debt of gratitude from the kingdom. What will you claim as your reward?”

Baekhyun sputters. “What?”

“You can ask for something,” says Kyungsoo. “A favor from the reigning monarch is customary.”

“I thought you’d just give me something,” says Baekhyun, wide-eyed with sudden alarm. “I didn’t know I had to come up with it myself.”

Chanyeol, once again, sighs.

Feeling sympathetic, Kyungsoo says, “There’s nothing you can think of that you’d want?”

“A sense of purpose in life would be pretty cool,” says Baekhyun, “but I don’t think you can just package one of those up and hand it over.”

“If only,” Kyungsoo mutters under his breath.

“Oh, actually—” Baekhyun licks his lips. “I don’t know if—is there a way I can come back here? To Luna?” His eyes are on Kyungsoo as he asks this, riddled with uncertainty. “I know this place isn’t for humans, but it’s really—it meant a lot to me, getting to come here and see all of this. Put a lot of stuff in perspective. So even if it’s only once, I’d like to see it again. If that’s… okay.”

Chanyeol, too, has turned to Kyungsoo now, watching and waiting expectantly. As if it’s his choice, even though every rule says it shouldn’t be. Kyungsoo hesitates awkwardly. He doesn’t know what the right call is here, either. Still, he nods to Chanyeol, who nods back.

“Sure,” says Chanyeol. “We could arrange something. You’re welcome here anytime.”

Baekhyun’s answering grin is tinged with relief, a sign of how afraid he’d been to ask in the first place. But there’s joy there, too, and from something as simple and effortless as an open invitation. What a notion, Kyungsoo thinks with a pang, that a person could be so happy to return to a place where they don’t belong.

 

 

 

They offer him a bed for the night, but Baekhyun has to decline. He has things to do tomorrow, and if he stays he won’t want to leave, and then he’d miss the electrician’s inspection, which would immediately make him look like an asshole. First impressions matter, especially in small towns where everyone seems to know everyone else, you know?

Chanyeol’s polite smile says he doesn’t know at all. He has Baekhyun’s clothes returned to him, lets him keep the cream-colored robes he wore earlier (after a wistful comment from Baekhyun about how it felt like he was wearing a _cloud_ ), and pulls him aside briefly for a private word.

“I didn’t really have a chance to say this before,” he says, “but thanks for bringing him back to us, even if you didn’t mean to do it.”

“Glad I could help,” says Baekhyun. “I just feel kind of bad, since everyone’s so bummed out.”

“It’s going to take a while for all of us to adjust,” Chanyeol admits. “But at least we have that chance now.” He turns, and Baekhyun follows his gaze to Kyungsoo, who has his head tilted up toward the open sky. “He’s really special. There are a lot of people who care about him.”

“I can tell,” says Baekhyun. “I hope things get better for him.”

Chanyeol, clearly starting to get emotional, sniffles a little and claps Baekhyun solidly on the back, hard enough that he stumbles forward. “Alright, time to get going,” he announces loudly, drawing Kyungsoo’s attention back to them.

There had been some arguments against Kyungsoo escorting Baekhyun back through the forest, especially at night, but he’d waved them all aside. No one else knew the way, he said, and having someone go with them would be a waste. They all had places to be, or people to go home to, and the unspoken implication was that Kyungsoo had neither. He’d accepted a blessing from Jongin, double-checked that his pendant was still hanging from his neck, and said a few short goodbyes.

“We’ll send someone after you if you’re gone too long this time,” Chanyeol warns when he sees them off by the entrance. “Or I’ll just look for you myself.”

“Well, try not to get lost,” Kyungsoo says lightly.

With that, Kyungsoo and Baekhyun start down the path, out of the city and into the darkening wood.

The forest is different at night, though not sinister like Baekhyun would have thought. Unsettling in its darkness, yes, but still lovely and calm, serene. All Baekhyun hears is the buzzing of insects and a distant owl’s echoing call. He wonders what walking through here feels like to the fae, if it’s spiritual and full of meaning, or just so normal as to be unextraordinary.

They’re waking in silence, until Kyungsoo asks, “Did Jongdae treat you well?”

Baekhyun startles. It’s such a casual question, and he really hadn’t expected Kyungsoo to be the one to initiate conversation in the first place. “Yeah,” he says. “He was cool. Told me about how the kingdom was founded, and what your necklace is and everything.”

“Good,” says Kyungsoo.

“He seemed nice,” says Baekhyun, trying not to stare too obviously as he watches for Kyungsoo’s reaction. The darkness obscures his face somewhat, too, which doesn’t help.

“He is,” says Kyungsoo. “He was one of the kindest people I knew. Good at taking care of people.” Then, “His family’s very lucky.” And right up until that last part, he’d seemed shockingly composed and matter-of-fact, but then his voice turns quieter, strained, and then he doesn’t say anything at all.

Baekhyun isn’t sure what this situation calls for. He doesn’t have context for what’s happening. But Kyungsoo seems so sad now, so forlorn, and Baekhyun feels a responsibility to fix this, if he can. He knows Kyungsoo doesn’t want him to feel sorry, but isn’t it still, in a way, Baekhyun’s fault if the guy’s upset? If the people around him are? He decides to change subjects to something safer, something that hopefully won’t depress Kyungsoo too terribly.

“He told me about some of the things he does as an astronomer,” says Baekhyun. “There was something about a feast? And a ceremony?”

“We have a feast every full moon,” says Kyungsoo, “in celebration of the Goddess. When the Moon is perfectly full in the sky, we sing to it, in the hopes that she can hear us.”

“It sounds really beautiful,” says Baekhyun, truthfully.

“Even when he was just an apprentice, Jongdae led the song most of the time.” Oh _god_. “He probably still does. His voice was everyone’s favorite.”

“What about Chanyeol?” asks Baekhyun, desperate at this point. “Singing to trees was his whole thing, right?”

“Chanyeol’s voice is nice, too,” Kyungsoo says, albeit a touch dismissively. “His talents skew more toward writing music, though. Sometimes he would write songs and Jongdae would—”

“I sing, too,” Baekhyun blurts.

“Do you?” Kyungsoo says with maybe a passive interest at best.

“I used to act in—wait, I don’t know if you guys have something like this. Um. Stage plays?”

“Sure.”

“Yeah, so I did a lot of musical ones, and also performed in a choir, and I got a scholarship for—I mean, I was so good at singing and acting that a special school wanted me to study there,” says Baekhyun. “So people think I’m pretty good at it, I guess.”

“And so humble, too,” Kyungsoo intones. “But that’s interesting. I’d like to hear you sometime.”

“I can serenade you with Christmas songs and showtunes,” says Baekhyun. “Have you crying over songs about baby Jesus.”

Kyungsoo chuckles. “I’ll look forward to it.”

“So what do I get in exchange, huh?” Baekhyun nudges him lightly with an elbow. “What’s something you can do?”

Kyungsoo hums. He seems less melancholy now, like maybe the distraction paid off, at least for the time being. “I could embroider something for you, if you want,” he says.

Baekhyun flounders at this. “Wait, are you serious?” he says, nearly tripping over a thick tree root but quickly steadying himself. “Wouldn’t that be a lot of work?”

“That depends on how much time I decide to spend on it,” says Kyungsoo. “Would that be something you’d like, though?”

“Yeah,” says Baekhyun. “It would. Thanks.”

“It’s not a big deal,” says Kyungsoo. “Not compared to what you did for me.”

Now Baekhyun comes to an abrupt stop, Kyungsoo following suit a step later. In the starlight, the look of confusion on Kyungsoo’s face is only just visible, his features outlined in a faint glow.

“Look,” says Baekhyun. “You don’t owe me anything, Kyungsoo. You really don’t. And even if you feel like you do—I’m not comfortable with that kind of treatment.”

Kyungsoo gazes at him wordlessly. The light dances in his eyes, makes them shine like gemstones.

“So if you give me things,” Baekhyun continues, “I want it to be as a friend, not ’cause you think you’re obligated.”

To his surprise, Kyungsoo chuckles. “So we’re friends now,” he says, like he’s inexplicably amused by the idea.

Baekhyun shrugs. “I’d like it if we were,” he says. “I dunno, I feel like we could both use someone our age to talk to.”

Kyungsoo’s smile falters, then comes back softer. “I think you’re right,” he says. “Friends, then.”

“Okay.” Baekhyun hesitates. “Can I hug you? I mean, don’t take this the wrong way, but you look pretty huggable. Plus, I think I could die from lack of physical affection.”

“Huggable?” Kyungsoo says skeptically.

“So… is that a no?”

“Why am I huggable? Is it because I’m short?” Kyungsoo’s brow furrows. “That’s what Chanyeol always said, that hugging tiny people made him happy. I’m not that much shorter than you, you know.”

“It’s not that!” Baekhyun insists. “I just think hugging you probably feels nice! And I’m needy, so I have to be held all the time or I wilt. Like a starving plant. Doesn’t that make you sad?”

“No,” Kyungsoo says flatly, then huffs and holds his arms out. “Fine, come here.”

Baekhyun takes the opportunity before Kyungsoo has time to reconsider. He swoops in and wraps his arms around Kyungsoo, who takes a short moment to return the embrace.

And it is nice, hugging Kyungsoo. He’s small in height and frame, easy to envelope completely. He feels soft and sturdy all at once, narrow but not slight enough to break, and has a sort of wiry strength in his own grip. He smells earthy, like dry summer air. Pleasant, especially for someone who apparently hasn’t bathed in decades.

Baekhyun feels like he should say something to break the silence, but Kyungsoo surprises him again by speaking up first. “Rosehips?”

“What?”

“Your smell,” Kyungsoo says before pulling away. “What soap did you use?”

“Whatever soap was given to me?” says Baekhyun, nonplussed. “I thought it smelled nice.”

Kyungsoo seems to frown at first, then snorts, shaking his head.

“What?” Baekhyun blinks. “Am I missing something?”

“We use rosehip oil for small children,” says Kyungsoo. “Jongdae’s idea of a joke.”

An indignant squawk makes its way up Baekhyun’s throat. “Christ, I’m _twenty-seven_ ,” he says. “You know what, I take back what I said about him being nice. Fuck that guy.”

Kyungsoo lets out a pure, genuine laugh, his shoulders shaking and face lighting up with a beaming grin. Even in the dim light, he’s radiant like this, young and happy. And the humor of the moment is lost on Baekhyun, but he smiles bemusedly, glad he could help, even if he doesn’t know how he did it.

“No one’s ever said that about him before,” Kyungsoo says as his laughter subsides. “I think I needed to hear it. Thank you.”

“No problem,” says Baekhyun, still a bit confused.

Kyungsoo turns and starts walking again. “Come on,” he calls over his shoulder. “We should get you home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls don't ask me if this is going to have a weird age gap love triangle jealousy thing, I don't play those kinds of games ;;


	4. Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Absence makes the heart fonder, I guess.”

According to Johnny, the wiring in the house is so old and worn-out it could actually kill him. Baekhyun could plug in a lamp one day and, BAM, dead. Or, more likely, knocked out. Or he’d just get severe electrical burns and have to go to the hospital.

“You can fix that though, right?” asks Baekhyun. “That’s a thing you do? Make my outlets not deadly?”

“Yeah, definitely.” Johnny doesn’t look up as he continues scrawling something on a clipboard. He has a pair of sunglasses pushed up on his head, and it’s actually a good look on him, not just unforgivably douchey. The gelled hair is a nice touch, too, though it has Baekhyun wondering if it’s gotten any sticky or greasy residue on the shades. “Wouldn’t be good for business if my customers got fatally electrocuted.”

“No kidding.” Baekhyun chuckles, a bit anxiously. “Hey, before I forget—do you know a plumber I could talk to about getting a washing machine set up?”

He does, as it happens. More of that small-town convenience. He writes down a name and number for Baekhyun on a supermarket receipt he pulls out of his pocket, then wraps up the inspection, says they can take care of the bill next time, and goes on his way.

Now it’s just before noon, and Baekhyun has the entire rest of the day ahead of him. He could spend it sighing wistfully at the trees, reminiscing about the adventure he had the day before, but at that rate he’d never bother doing anything again. He can be productive. There’s the matter, though, of figuring out what form that productivity will take.

First, he settles on unpacking the last of his things, which he’s been putting off out of sheer laziness. Except that makes him realize the bookcase where he’d planned on putting his books and game collection and miscellany is coated in dust, so he can’t put anything on it until it’s been cleaned. Then, while he’s dusting the shelves with a damp cloth (really an old T-shirt he decided he could do without), he finds bits of wood splintering off of one corner of the case. He doesn’t have anything to sand it down with. A trip to the store, then.

It takes some searching for him to track down the general store, since he didn’t pay especially close attention to where it was in his stroll through the town the other day. When he spots it, though, it isn’t hard to puzzle out what it is, with an uninspired name like Moonwood General and a plain, easy-to-read sign. There are only two vehicles parked out front, a beat-up station wagon and a shining black-and-red motorcycle. Baekhyun thinks it might be the same motorcycle he saw zipping down the road earlier that week, but he couldn’t say for sure. He doesn’t know enough about motorcycles to tell any of them apart.

The only people he finds inside are a cashier and a woman with two kids. The cashier’s reading a magazine behind the counter, not so much as glancing up when one of the children starts throwing a shrieking tantrum. As someone who worked retail in college, Baekhyun gets it. You have to pick your battles.

Baekhyun grabs a basket and wanders the aisles, collecting whatever assorted things he thinks he might need. He almost forgets to look for sandpaper, which is a little embarrassing, but thankfully no one in the world knows about his ineptitude except him. On the way up to the checkstand he decides to reward himself for his hard work with a handful of candy bars.

When he approaches the counter, the cashier peers at him from over the top of the magazine with a look of disinterest, then sighs, closes the periodical and tosses it aside before getting up from the chair he’d been reclining in. He looks very much like he would rather be absolutely anywhere else. There’s no greeting before he starts scanning Baekhyun’s purchases, no acknowledgment of Baekhyun’s friendly smile. Minimum-wage jobs are the same everywhere, seems like. Baekhyun isn’t going to burden the guy further by trying to initiate small talk.

“Twenty-one fifty-six,” the cashier drawls after scanning everything, a hint of a lisp in his voice. His nametag reads HELLO, MY NAME IS SEHUN.

Baekhyun pays in cash, making Sehun-the-cashier sigh quietly again as he counts out the change. Money and a receipt change hands, and Baekhyun gives him a sunny yet subdued _Thanks,_ not bothering to take offense at the lack of response.

On the way home, Baekhyun passes the library, has some vague thoughts about checking out some books after all, and is struck with a horrific realization that almost makes him slam reflexively on his brakes.

He forgot about Junmyeon and the statue.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he mutters to himself. “Fuck my life. I’m in hell.”

He could just walk into the library now, do some browsing, tell Junmyeon the statue just up and vanished somehow and he doesn’t need to help Baekhyun investigate after all. But that would raise questions, wouldn’t it? What if one of Junmyeon’s theories involved a local legend about fairies and mysterious phenomena in the woods, and a disappearing statue would just make him curious? There has to be some other lie Baekhyun can make up. He decides he’ll give it another day or two, just until he can think of something.

No books, then. He just makes his way back to the house, where he does a little bit of fixing, a little bit of tidying. Spends a while squinting at the patterned wallpaper in the bedroom and thinking about replacing it, then does the same with the walls and floor of the bathroom, which are undoubtedly older than he is, probably by a good margin.

The house still looks very much like a place where elderly people live. It’s going to take a while to feel like something Baekhyun’s made his own, he thinks, and not just because of the time and effort and cost involved; because he doesn’t know yet what Baekhyun’s House would look like, what he would _want_ it to look like. Can’t just settle for the general idea of “something different than what it is now,” because that could be a lot of things, some of them worse than what he’s stuck with in the meantime. He has to figure out what kind of house he wants to have, what he wants it to say about him.

He also needs a job. That’s something of a problem.

On the bright side, he has enough to live off of for a little while, so it isn’t all that dire an issue. He doesn’t know what kind of work he’ll be able to find around here, though. Likely nothing that would let him make use of his degree. And that had been one of his first complaints, when his parents gave him the ultimatum of either moving to Moonwood or getting kicked out right on his ass. They’d said (unsympathetically) that they were sure he’d figure something out. It’s a nice, neighborly town, and he’s well-educated and outgoing, so finding work shouldn’t be hard.

Before Baekhyun left the comfort of the city, Zitao had joked that he’d have to become a farmer. He’ll grow cabbages and raise chickens and wear overalls unironically.

“It’s not the actual countryside,” Baekhyun had grumbled, snatching the bottle from Zitao’s hand and taking a swig of the shitty craft beer. “People only have farms out on the edge of town, by the highway. Where there are, like… wind turbines and junk.”

Zitao had a look of genuine confusion. “So what’s their place have? Just a yard or some shit?”

“Um. There’s kind of a small backyard, I guess,” said Baekhyun, pausing to take another drink. “And my grandpa’s garden, and some old shed. It’s on the edge of this big forest, so mostly there’s just a bunch of trees?”

“Sounds boring,” said Zitao, then quickly added, “No offense,” grabbing the beer back for himself.

“It _is_ boring,” Baekhyun said. “I liked it when I was a kid and we just drove out to visit in the summer, but there’s nothing there. It’s just a tiny house in a tiny town.” Then he’d scrubbed the heels of his palms over his eyes agitatedly and groaned, “They don’t even have internet there!”

“Wow,” said Zitao. “That sucks.”

“ _Yeah_ , I’m aware.”

“Well. Since you can’t live off the land and shit, maybe you can find some rich old widow and be her sugar baby.” Zitao giggled at Baekhyun’s horrified look. “Get paid to change her catheter with your shirt off.”

“I’m glad I’m leaving,” said Baekhyun. “I can start over and find new friends who don’t tell me to flaunt my naked body to old ladies.”

Zitao, still giggling deviously, had leaned into Baekhyun, snaking an arm around him and resting his chin on Baekhyun’s shoulder. “You’ll miss me,” he said, smugly and assuredly, like he hadn’t nearly burst into tears when Baekhyun first told him the news.

“Maybe a little,” said Baekhyun. “Absence makes the heart fonder, I guess.”

He does miss Tao. Misses his other friends, too, even though he hasn’t been gone all that long. Misses being in the city, being able to walk around downtown and see all the people milling about, all the things going on all the time. Misses the sound of traffic outside as he falls asleep. Misses getting to meet other twenty-somethings and have them be normal, everyday humans, not cursed fairy princes or people who are only being nice to him because it’s their job.

But that kind of attitude is useless. If all he ever does is compare this place to where he was before, he’ll never be happy with where he is or what he’s doing. He has to look at the positives.

New town.

New life.

New Baekhyun.

It’s fine. It’s all going to be fine. He mumbles it to himself under his breath repeatedly as he tightens the hinges on the kitchen cupboards, willing it to be true.

 

 

 

Saturday. Baekhyun eats boxed mac and cheese for breakfast because he can, and because he forgot to pick up more eggs. Mac and cheese with a side of toast. Very normal and reasonable. Not at all strange or depressing. While he eats he reads the manual for a game he can’t even play because of the useless old television, imagining that he can enjoy it vicariously through pictures and short paragraphs of text. Also not depressing.

He fills the next few hours with semi-productive tasks, organizing things on shelves and getting rid of little odds and ends he finds lying around. Then lunch rolls around (the remainder of the mac and cheese, plus canned chili—and okay, maybe it is a little sad), and the washer and dryer are dropped off shortly after. Baekhyun has the delivery guys just leave the appliances in the little garage, because he doesn’t use it anyway, and that’s where they’re likely to end up once they’re installed. Besides, there isn’t a lot of room anywhere else.

He goes grocery shopping. It’s an uneventful experience. After he puts the food away, he makes an attempt at cleaning out the shed, which is fully of gardening supplies and rusty tools and one of those old push lawn mowers, the kind from before they were motorized. It hasn’t seen use in years, which isn’t surprising; his grandpa’s back wouldn’t have let him push a thing like that around. Baekhyun wonders how the lawn’s been getting trimmed all this time. Maybe there was a neighborhood kid who would do it for them.

The shed smells like soil and metal and dust, and it reminds him of being a little kid and sneaking in, pretending it was his own secret lair. It has the look of a little house, almost, with its tiny windows and slanted roof, and the door that used to be a bright apple red, its paint now chipped and faded. He remembers—same as with the forest—being scolded for wandering in, because it was dangerous and they didn’t want him in there alone. Looking around at the stuff in here now, the shears and rake and spade and god knows what else, he understands why. He takes one of the boxes he’d used for moving his things into the house and piles some of the uselessly old and dangerous-looking tools into it, then decides to call it a day before he can push his luck and wind up with tetanus.

For dinner, he finds the number of the only pizza delivery place in town, courtesy of a phone book that’s thankfully just a few years old. He orders a Hawaiian pizza, extra-large, so he can look forward to two meals of leftovers. They tell him it’ll be—

“Thirty minutes. Wait no—forty? Hold on.” The guy on the other end of the line—Mark, he said—calls out to someone, receiver covered so the sound’s muffled and distant. Then he comes back with, “Alright, yeah, thirty minutes. What’s your address?”

Baekhyun rattles off the address. There’s a pause.

“Okay uhhhhh.” Mark mumbles something. Then, “Maybe forty minutes, actually. That okay?”

“Yep, no problem,” says Baekhyun. Not like he has anywhere to be.

Forty-one minutes later, he hears the telltale knock of whatever saint is delivering his food. Baekhyun jogs over, wallet in hand, and opens the door to greet the delivery boy, a teenager who seems to have far too bright a disposition for someone who works in food service. There’s an almost cartoonish smile on his face as he stands there holding the pizza box.

“Hey, sorry for the wait,” says the delivery boy, who’s almost certainly the guy Baekhyun talked to on the phone. Mark, he remembers. “Busy night.”

Baekhyun hands over the money, plus an extra five. “Yeah, I figured,” he says, tucking his wallet away before taking the box from Mark. “Must be tough when you’re the only place in town that delivers.”

“Least it’s not a game night,” says Mark. He lets out a big whooshing breath and counts out the money. “You want change?”

“Nah, keep it,” says Baekhyun, who’s lifted the lid of the box slightly and is already salivating at the aroma.

Mark brightens even further. “Cool, thanks man,” he says as he pockets the money. “Have a good one.”

“You too,” Baekhyun replies as Mark starts to walk away.

As Baekhyun’s getting ready to close the door, he hears, “Hey, cute cat.”

Baekhyun looks to Mark again, who looks back at him at first, then turns his head pointedly toward the driveway. Baekhyun has to step forward and peer around to follow the gaze.

There, perched on the hood of Baekhyun’s sedan, is Irene in all her fluffy, multicolored glory. She stares at Baekhyun unblinkingly, flicking her bushy tail in a lazy motion.

“Neighbor’s cat,” says Baekhyun. “I don’t think she likes me.”

As if to confirm this, Irene meows quietly.

Mark lets out a laugh. “That’s just how cats are, dude. They act like they don’t like anyone.”

“Yeah,” says Baekhyun, “I guess.”

Back in the house, Baekhyun devours enough pizza to make himself feel bloated, then packs the leftovers away. He draws a bath after that, because the dust and grime from the shed are still lingering on his skin, and strips down to lower himself into the water with a contented sigh. His fairy robes are hanging from a hook on the door, waiting for him to slip into them again and sink into their cloud softness. Closing his eyes, he thinks about how he should’ve bought bubble bath. Ah, well. Next time.

 

 

 

The royal guest lodgings by Chanyeol’s quarters are smaller than Kyungsoo is used to, though he doesn’t need much room for himself anyway. What matters, anyway, is that the bedding is soft, the surrounding area is quiet, and it doesn’t remind him of his own rooms at all. He wakes up to sunlight pouring in through his windows, to the sound of thrushes singing. There’s a smell on the air like it’s going to rain.

With nowhere in particular he needs to be, Kyungsoo takes his time dressing himself in hooded robes, combing fingers through the tangles in his hair, checking once again to make sure the pendant is still hanging from his neck. He puts his hair up in a bun out of habit, then remembers with a pang that he isn’t supposed to. He takes it down and ties it loosely back with forced nonchalance, even though there’s no one around to witness it but him.

He keeps to himself during breakfast, and no one speaks to him, outside of a few _excuse me’_ s and _sorry’_ s and _thank you_ ’s. It should be disheartening to him, how easy it is to get by without anyone knowing who he is, or even caring, but the anonymity comes instead as a relief. He’s never really known unprivileged peace before now, and while there was a bit of a rough, awkward start, he adjusted quickly, blending in by mimicking what he saw. It’s allowed him to wander the kingdom as a normal person, interacting as minimally as he can with those around him. There are still whispers about the odd appearance the other day of a man in strange clothes and the ghost of the missing prince, though Chanyeol’s countered this by spreading a different rumor about visitors from another kingdom. Whatever the cause may be, Kyungsoo has freedom enough for now. He isn’t going to question how it’s come to him.

There’s a downside, though, to his lack of limitations, because now he doesn’t know what to do with his time, where to go, how to be useful. He spent most of yesterday in the herb and flower gardens, the day before at the hatcheries. Dirty but satisfying work. If there’s rain on the way, though, he’d rather not do anything outdoors. He likes to keep busy, but still has to draw the line somewhere.

Today, he takes the winding steps up to the canopy at the heart of the city, where all the more delicate crafts are done and where most of the elderly reside, both kept safe from the elements. He finds the cluster of needleworker stations and insinuates himself effortlessly among the seamsters and embroiderers. The person immediately next to him is at work on little orchid robes. Something for a younger royal, then, one Kyungsoo hasn’t ever met. Maybe a distant cousin, or a not-so-distant one. Maybe the child or grandchild of a friend.

He sets up his station with the necessary tools, gathers up lengths of beige fabric and a spool of thread, finds a pattern he’s decently sure will work. It’s been some time since he had to make anything himself from scratch. With his newfound commoner status, though, he’ll have to get used to that, or else find a way to barter for pre-sewn garments. No reason to put the burden on someone else if he doesn’t have to, though. He has the time and the ability, the willingness—just needs to practice a bit before he can say he’s any good at all. And he’s already settled on a design for this set anyway, one involving delicate lines in rich brown, something suitable for Feast Day celebrations. He’ll make them personal, make them feel like his.

He remembers, too, that Baekhyun wanted some embroidery done. Only as a gift, he’d said. A gift from a friend. Because the universe decided the two of them would be friends, even though they hardly know each other, and live in different places, leading different sorts of lives. Then again, Kyungsoo can’t say he knows at this point what life he’s even leading. He still needs to forge a path somehow, though no part of it will be easy. He has to create something out of nothing, reinvent himself so he can find somewhere he fits. He’ll have a role outside of bureaucracy, a new home that’s all his, a life without a title, and—someday—a lover who isn’t Jongdae. Likely someone who won’t have much idea who he even is, someone who grew up hearing stories about him, knowing of him as a myth, a ghost, a tale to keep children from wandering out too far into the forest.

But it’s possible he won’t get to be Kyungsoo at all anymore, depending on what the council decides to do with him. They could give him a new identity, not letting him be reinvented so much as leaving his former self to die. He could go the whole rest of his life not being recognized, not being important to anyone at all, and everything he’s done up until now won’t matter.

In a moment of inattentiveness, he pricks himself with a pin, startling at the sudden sting. He sticks his finger in his mouth and tries to suppress his frustration with that and everything else, keep it on the inside, a structure collapsing on itself. That’s how he’s always preferred to do things. He keeps it all to himself and there’s no collateral damage, no hurt going sideways. It would have made him either a great king or a very poor one; no one could ever seem to decide.

He spends as much time on the robes as he thinks he can afford to, as much as is conscionable when there are more important, more selfless things he could be doing. By the time he leaves, it’s already been raining long and hard enough to turn the ground to mud, which is a mixed blessing. Hardly anyone will be out and about in weather like this, so it’s a peaceful sort of lonely. But there’s the issue of the muddy grass, the puddles along the roads, and even though all sorts of things that used to seem terrible fill him with awe and appreciation now, Kyungsoo can’t say he’s grown any fonder of dirtying his feet or the bottom hems of his clothes.

Padding along on the wet stones that line the sides of the main road, he goes to the shrine, cleanses his feet and hands with the basin by the sheltered entrance. Inside the vestibule, there are maybe a dozen people scattered about, priests and common folk alike. Most are murmuring quiet prayers, knelt in front of stones dedicated to whichever constellation suits their needs. The room smells of burning herbs and the darkness of the earth and the dusty coolness of new rainfall.

Kyungsoo goes to one of the priests, an older man Kyungsoo either never knew or doesn’t remember, and asks after Jongin. There’s a look on the priest’s face that borders on recognition as he meets Kyungsoo’s eye, though if he has any real suspicions as to who the former prince is, he doesn’t say anything.

“Tending to the graves,” says the priest.

Taken aback, Kyungsoo says, “In this weather?”

“He’s committed to his duties,” the priest replies stiffly.

“Of course,” says Kyungsoo, skin prickling with embarrassment. “I was only concerned for his health.”

It’s not unfounded, either. As a young man, Jongin had a propensity for recklessness that resulted in frequent trips to the healers. Always pushing himself harder than he should in an attempt to please the people around him, and to not fall short of his own unreasonable expectations. Fretting over dead people in the rain and getting himself sick in the process is exactly something he would do.

“He has the Goddess’s protection,” says the priest.

Kyungsoo wants to argue that that’s meaningless, because Luna isn’t going to waste time saving them from their own stupidity. But he’s a commoner now, and arguing with a priest would be tactless at best, so he just nods in understanding and thanks the man before going on his way.

The rain continues to fall as Kyungsoo walks to the other side of the hill, to the blue-and-yellow fields comprising the graves of his people. The flowers are less vibrant under the overcast sky, but all the dense clusters of star-shaped blooms still demand attention, as do the small leafy trees interspersed throughout. Kyungsoo ambles through the rows of burial plots toward the only figures he sees—one clad in the vestments of a lunar priest, the other in light-colored robes similar to Kyungsoo’s own—making note along the way of a few familiar stone markers he sees, ones so old he could recite them in order if he had to. As he gets closer, he becomes certain that the one figure is Jongin; they have his build, his posture, still the same as before in spite of his age.

To Kyungsoo’s knowledge, the priests’ responsibilities in these fields center around praying to the Goddess at the graves of the newly deceased, accompanying those who leave offerings at family plots, and scattering herbs along the paths to soothe wandering spirits. There are gardeners who maintain the flowers, keeping them in orderly clusters to prevent overgrowth, and architects are known to sing to the little trees as a way of paying their respects. By the looks of it, though, Jongin and the person beside him aren’t doing any of those things, just standing and talking as the steady downpour persists.

Jongin is facing in Kyungsoo’s direction as he approaches, and appears to notice him before Kyungsoo can call out. His eyes widen in surprise.

“What are you doing here?” Jongin blurts, causing his companion to turn to look at Kyungsoo as well. A young woman—no, not a woman at all, really. Barely adolescent, her face still round with baby fat.

“I wanted to see if you needed help with anything,” says Kyungsoo. “I worked with Jihyun and her wife for the past couple of days, but.” He glances around to indicate the rain.

“I don’t,” says Jongin, “but Chan—um—our friend might have things you can do.”

Kyungsoo’s brow furrows confusedly, then he realizes why Jongin stopped short of saying Chanyeol’s name. Whoever this girl is, she likely doesn’t know Kyungsoo’s identity, and might find it odd for an unfamiliar commoner to run errands for the king.

“Alright,” says Kyungsoo. “I’ll see him next, then.”

The girl whirls around to face Jongin. “You know it’s rude not to introduce people,” she says.

“Um.” And here’s another thing that hasn’t changed about Jongin after all these years: He still adopts a look of paralyzed terror when he’s put on the spot, especially in circumstances where he’s expected to lie. “Yoona, this is—um—”

“Baekhyun,” Kyungsoo fills in. “Nice to meet you.”

The girl, Yoona, turns back to Kyungsoo. Something about her features strikes him as oddly familiar, but she’s far too young for Kyungsoo to have known her personally. Old enough, though, to be someone’s daughter. The smile she offers is slightly mischievous.

“Nice to meet you, too,” she says. “Maybe you can help settle an argument Uncle Nini and I were having.”

Kyungsoo feels his mouth twitch as he struggles to hold back a grin. _Uncle Nini_. Probably another one of Jongin’s nieces. “I can try,” he says, ignoring Jongin’s frantic head shaking.

“I’ve heard people talk about seeing His Highness Prince Kyungsoo back in Luna,” she says. “Some of the elders were even saying it looked like his ghost, like he hadn’t aged a day since he disappeared.”

“I heard something about that,” says Kyungsoo, as noncommittal as he can manage.

“I think the part about the ghost is silly,” she says, “but whether or not it _was_ a ghost, or even the missing prince at all, it’s still brought something interesting to people’s attention.”

Kyungsoo spares a glance to Jongin, who’s still trying to communicate with his eyes that this needs to stop immediately. “Oh?”

“We never found out what happened to him,” Yoona says solemnly. “I know there was a funeral a few years before I was born. But no one found out if he really died or not. He could—I dunno, be out there with a witch. Or he _is_ a witch.”

“He wasn’t,” Jongin cuts in. “Everyone would have known.”

“Either way,” says Yoona, “someone should look for him. No one’s even tried since my dad. I think it’s worth checking out.”

“It’s not,” says Jongin, with a firm, quiet authority. “Besides, it would be too dangerous for anyone to go out there.”

“Prince Kyungsoo went,” she says, folding her arms in front of her chest. The rain is beginning to let up, lightly drizzling now.

“And look what happened to him!”

“I _can’t_ because we don’t _know._ ”

“Why do you care so much?” Kyungsoo interrupts. “What is he to you, Yoona?”

She loses some of the tension in her posture and face as she says, “Nothing. But he was important to my dad. And to Uncle Nini,” she adds. “So that’s enough of a reason for me to care.”

“That’s the second time you’ve mentioned your father,” says Kyungsoo, curiosity piqued. “Who is he?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jongin says at the same time that Yoona answers, “The astronomer, Jongdae.”

 _Oh_.

Despite feeling like he’s had the air sucked out of his lungs, Kyungsoo forces himself to ask, “Were they close?”

Surprise takes Yoona’s expression. She doesn’t resemble Jongdae overly much, except just a bit in her eyes and the wideness of her smile—looks more like Jongdae’s mother, actually, when Kyungsoo thinks about it—but something about the way she carries herself, her mannerisms, the slight whine in her voice when she was arguing with Jongin, is all so reminiscent of Jongdae that Kyungsoo doesn’t know why the connection didn’t occur to him before.

“You never heard the rumors?” she asks.

Kyungsoo shakes his head, because that’s all he can do. He doesn’t know what to think about their relationship being just a rumor now, when it used to be common knowledge. Jongdae, the prince’s lover, his _betrothed_. It wasn’t exactly a secret. But maybe the people stopped talking about it after he disappeared. Maybe at Jongdae’s request, or Chanyeol’s, or simply out of respect for Jongdae or his wife. So now, Jongdae has a child who can only suspect what he and Kyungsoo were to each other, a child who was never told about the man her father gave so much of his youth to, and will likely never find out for certain.

Kyungsoo realizes now that he has no reason to fear the council and their decision. He’s already, in a number of small but significant ways, been erased, reduced, made a stranger.

“I guess it’s not really my place to talk about it,” says Yoona. “But yeah. They were. Our family leaves offerings at his memorial.”

Kyungsoo chews on the inside of his cheek for a moment, trying not to think about the fact that he has his own memorial, then asks, “Have you talked to your dad about your idea? What does he think?”

“He said it was stupid,” she admits, “but that’s not the point.”

“Yoona,” says Jongin, “I think you should—”

“No one’s going to listen to me because I’m a kid,” says Yoona, not with spite but a straightforward factuality. “But I think it’s important. I don’t think my dad would’ve gone missing for days trying to find him if there wasn’t something weird going on.”

 _Missing for days trying to find him_.

“Maybe,” Kyungsoo starts, then pauses to cough in the hopes that he can will away the sudden weakness in his voice. “Maybe it doesn’t matter what happened.”

Yoona’s eyes narrow. “What do you mean?”

“If the prince died, or something terrible happened to him, there’s probably nothing anyone could do. But if he’s out there somewhere, living his life—” Kyungsoo shrugs. “He probably doesn’t want to be found.”

She shoots him something like a glare, then seems to deflate. “I guess that’s true. I still think it would help to know what happened to him, though.”

At last, the rain peters out entirely. The skies are still cloudy, but there are pockets of blue not too far off. Kyungsoo finds himself wondering if it’s the same sky the humans see, the same sky that hangs over Baekhyun and his little house he told Kyungsoo about. He’s never spent enough time in the human world to find out, never paid enough attention.

“I think your dad already made peace with what happened,” says Kyungsoo, locking eyes with Jongin, who’s frowning heavily. “These rumors about a ghost and your plan to solve a mystery that doesn’t need solving—it probably stirred up things he already moved on from, don’t you think?”

“Oh.” Now she looks faintly distressed, eyes wide and fretful. “You’re probably right. I didn’t even think about that. I guess that was pretty insensitive, wasn’t it?”

“I’m sure he understands that you were trying to help,” says Kyungsoo.

“He’s right,” says Jongin. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Yoona.”

“Maybe,” she says.

Jongin’s giving Kyungsoo a look now, the kind that says they need to talk—or possibly the kind a parent gives a child who’s about to be lectured. The idea of speaking with Jongin now about the things he just heard, though, fills Kyungsoo with an anxious mortification so profound it’s nauseating. So he says, “I should get going. Take care of yourselves, both of you.”

“Bye, and thank you,” says Yoona.

“Goodbye,” Jongin says grudgingly.

As Kyungsoo’s leaving, he hears Yoona ask lowly, “So who was that guy, anyway?” followed by Jongin’s answering stutter.

 

 

 

If Baekhyun knew anything about gardening at all, he wouldn’t have to waste so much time squatting down to inspect the flowers in the backyard doubtfully. He thinks some of them are weeds, but he doesn’t really know what a weed looks like. Possibly it’s just anything that isn’t pretty. He remembers hearing that dandelions are weeds, though, and he’s always thought they’re nice, which brings him right back to square one. He squints resentfully at the confusing array of plants, and at the still-wet ground suctioning around his shoes.

Ideally, he would just go to the library and ask for books on gardening, but when he went yesterday to lie to Junmyeon about the statue situation, it had been closed. Hardly anything in Moonwood is open on Sundays, because that’s just how small towns operate, apparently. He doesn’t think it’s even a church thing, frankly; there’s just so little to do in the town that Baekhyun halfway suspects they all take a day off to save money, giving their employees fewer hours and cutting down on their electric bills. But the consequence of this is that he missed his last possible chance to talk to Junmyeon about the statue, without it being too last-minute and conspicuous. And because he’s just a train wreck of a person, he knows he wouldn’t be able to carry on a conversation with Junmyeon now without anxiously blurting out something stupid. He’ll just have to wait for the guy to stop by in a couple of hours. They can walk out to the forest and find absolutely nothing, and Baekhyun will apologize for wasting his time, and that will be the end of that. Or so he hopes.

Anyway, he supposes he could ask for gardening tips the next time he visits Luna. It’s a whole society of hippie fairies who talk to plants. Surely they’ll be able to impart some kind of wisdom, something even a wholly inept person like Baekhyun could follow. If he asks nicely enough, maybe they could even give him some kind of magical seeds for flowers that never wilt, or something like that.

Huffing, he straightens up. The garden is a lost cause for now, at any rate. He’ll just go back to doing little odd jobs around the house, or flipping through the pages of the old cookbook he found and trying to decipher the handwriting in the margins. Or he could load up that old TV in his car and haul it away so he doesn’t have to stare mournfully at it every time he walks through the living room. There’s a whole world of possibilities laid out in front of him, really.

Mr. Zhang’s goats are bleating in that terrible way they do over in their enclosure. Normally they keep to themselves, eating grass and frolicking around and looking inherently sort of disconcerting. They’re at the side of the fence closest to Baekhyun now, though, making their awful noises, watching him with their ungodly eyes. He doesn’t even know their names, having refused to learn them while shoveling their shit; just knows that every time he has to be confronted with their existence, his day gets a little worse.

So there’s one thing Baekhyun’s learned about himself so far in Moonwood: He fucking hates goats.

Irene’s out and about, too. She’s been making herself at home around Baekhyun’s property, which he doesn’t really mind—couldn’t do anything about it even if he did, granted—though she never lets him get close enough to pet her. Right now she’s lying on the little bench against the wall by his back door, eyes closed and tail swishing every few seconds. He’ll have to walk close to her to get back in the house, which has a decent chance of scaring her off.

“You’re a weird cat,” he says.

Irene opens her eyes slowly and stares at him icily, as she is wont to do practically every time he speaks.

“You act like you don’t like me,” says Baekhyun, “but you follow me around whenever I’m out here. And I keep seeing you on my car, too. What’s the deal, hm?”

Irene, being a cat, doesn’t respond.

“Weird,” he says again. “Alright, I gotta walk past you. Don’t freak out or anything.”

When Baekhyun’s just a few steps from the door, Irene darts away, not back to her owner’s house but toward the tree line, where she quickly disappears into the undergrowth. It’s a little worrying, now that Baekhyun knows there are bears lurking somewhere in that forest, but he thinks the cat can take care of herself. He hopes so, at least.

At the door, he peels his muddy shoes off lazily, not bothering to untie them. Gazing down at the greyish-brown linoleum, he thinks that he might want hardwood floors. New kitchen cabinets, too, that don’t have the dated look the current ones have, with their delicate handles and dramatic beveled edges, and awkward, faded blue paint job. Maybe a pristine white instead, or stained wood, or one of those pretty shades of sandy brown he’s seen on those interior decorating shows. A new sink. New water heater. And in the bathroom, a combination tub and shower. He misses showering more than words can adequately describe.

He’ll do all of this when he can afford to. If he’s lucky, he might even be able to pay for it with a job he likes, something he wouldn’t have thought possible in the past. He’s feeling strangely optimistic about the prospect now. The idea of the future isn’t quite so daunting anymore, now that he’s started to slowly form a plan, and has some idea of where to start. Even if little things like the yard and the garden and the whole concept of cooking real food make him feel like an idiot kid with no idea what he’s doing. Everyone has to start somewhere.

He makes himself lunch (turkey sandwich, so simple even he couldn’t fuck it up) and sits down with a ballpoint pen and notepad. He’s decided to start making to-do lists for himself, something he used to do back in college to keep from getting overwhelmed, but gave up on once he was miserably employed in the real world. He’ll plan out his days, or maybe his weeks, and have the satisfaction of checking off each accomplishment, evidence of his successes. Everything will work out in no time, he thinks. New life, new town, new—

“The fuck?” he mumbles to himself around the choking hazard he’s stuffed in his mouth. He pauses mid-chew, listening to the absolutely demonic noise coming from outside. It sounds like Mr. Zhang’s goats, except louder and, somehow, worse. Louder and higher, and sort of frantic. Baekhyun groans, setting down his pen and getting up from the kitchen table. If one of those goats is getting mauled by a mountain lion or something, it absolutely isn’t Baekhyun’s problem. That’s what he decides as he heads over to the window, still working on his mouthful of sandwich.

The moment he looks out, though, he nearly chokes—sort of does choke, actually, in an embarrassing moment that ends with him sputtering through a glass of water. Still coughing a bit, he darts over to the back door, tries to pull his shoes on, then quickly gives up and squashes the backs of the shoes under his heels before running clumsily out the door.

“What the fuck,” he says.

“You say that a lot,” says Kyungsoo, who’s just standing there in Baekhyun’s backyard, looking entirely out of place and uncharacteristically frazzled: hair unkempt, robes streaked with dirt and mud, cheeks flushed. The goats have retreated to the far side of their pen, still making nightmarish sounds of distress. Somewhere in the back of Baekhyun’s head is Hannibal Lecter talking about lambs screaming, which isn’t incredibly helpful.

“I’m—you’re—” Baekhyun falters. “What are you—is everything okay?”

Kyungsoo sighs. “Not really,” he says. That’s when Baekhyun notices the bag slung over his shoulder, a bulging thing decorated with—he thinks—little flower designs, or maybe snowflakes. Baekhyun can’t tell in his current state of utter confusion.

“Shit,” says Baekhyun, anxiety flaring up in his chest. “Are you in trouble? Wait, c’mon, let’s go inside.”

He crosses the short distance between them and grabs Kyungsoo by the arm, meeting no resistance as he drags the latter into the house. He closes the door behind them, then peers out the little window, in case whatever thing’s shaken up Kyungsoo managed to find them. No sign of anything. The goat noises have finally stopped, though, thank _fuck_.

“There’s no danger, if that’s what you’re worried about,” says Kyungsoo.

Baekhyun whirls around to face him. “Really? Then why are you—” He pauses, then just gestures to Kyungsoo, who’s a bit of a mess at the moment.

“I’m having a crisis,” says Kyungsoo.

“A crisis,” Baekhyun echoes. “Like. Existentially?”

Brow knit, Kyungsoo says, “What?”

“Never mind. What’s wrong?”

Another sigh. “I left home,” says Kyungsoo. He won’t meet Baekhyun’s eye, instead staring fixedly at some point on the ugly wall behind him.

“Well. I mean. Yeah?” Baekhyun scratches his arm. “You’re here, so.” Then Kyungsoo’s words really sink in. “Wait, _left_ -left?”

“I let Chanyeol know. Or—I wrote him a note,” Kyungsoo says haltingly. “Then I packed up some of my things and… and here I am.” He looks at Baekhyun finally, big eyes frowning almost comically. “Would it be okay if I stayed with you for a little while?”

The Kyungsoo standing in Baekhyun’s shitty little kitchen does not look like a regal fairy prince in the slightest. He’s tired and disheveled and filthy, his muddy footprints all over the linoleum, hair coming loose from the tie on the back of his head. He’s in worse shape than he was after waking up from a twenty-year stasis—or maybe he was just as bad then, too, but took such great pains to hide it that Baekhyun couldn’t have noticed. This time he’s wearing his vulnerability on his sleeve. Something tells Baekhyun that not many people have seen him in this sort of state.

“Sure?” says Baekhyun. Then, seeing Kyungsoo’s grimace, “Yeah, I mean, I don’t mind you staying, it’s not a problem, just—I’m a little confused, I guess?”

“I don’t know if I have the energy to explain everything right now,” says Kyungsoo.

“That’s fine,” says Baekhyun. “You can tell me what’s going on later. If you want, I mean. In the meantime, um. Do you… wanna get cleaned up?” Which is the gentlest way he can think to imply _You’re looking kinda gross and you actually smell a little bit, too_.

Kyungsoo just nods.

Baekhyun starts a bath for him. He shows him the shampoo and conditioner, explains what each one is for, points him to the bar soap (“Just to warn you, this has been all over my naked body”), and finds him a clean towel. Points out the stopper in the steadily filling tub and tells him to pull it when he’s done. When Baekhyun asks if he has any questions, Kyungsoo shakes his head. Baekhyun wishes once again that he’d invested in some bubble bath. He feels like Kyungsoo could use it.

“Do you have clothes to change into?” he asks. “Clean ones?”

Another shake of the head. Baekhyun refrains from wondering aloud what the fuck is even in the cloth bag Kyungsoo brought with him.

“I’ll find you something,” he says.

When the tub is full enough, he shuts off the water, then leaves to give Kyungsoo some privacy. He spends a few minutes digging through his closet, eventually settling on a Joy Division shirt that’s a little tight around the shoulders for him and a pair of drawstring sweatpants. He and Kyungsoo aren’t close enough just yet for Baekhyun to feel comfortable sharing his boxers, though. The guy’s gonna have to go commando for now.

He folds the clothes up and takes them back into the bathroom, where he keeps his gaze carefully away from the tub as he sets the stack on the closed lid of the toilet.

“There,” he says. “Put these on after you dry off.”

He hears a splash, a mumbled _Thanks_ , and leaves again, leaving the door slightly ajar in case fairies don’t know how doorknobs work.

While Kyungsoo’s in the bath, Baekhyun goes back to working on his checklist, adding a little shopping list to the side of it with things like underwear, a hairbrush (he doesn’t think his comb will survive a battle with Kyungsoo’s flowing locks), at least one pair of shoes in some unknown size. It occurs to him, distantly, that he should be a little more surprised by this, instead of just taking it in his stride, but he thinks his ability to experience genuine surprise has been severely stunted at this point. He saved a fairy prince, who’d been cursed to live as a statue for twenty-two years, and who can talk to birds—though not conversationally, he remembers—and now the guy’s his house guest. Baekhyun might as well accept that this is the sort of life he leads now.

Meanwhile, Kyungsoo stays in the bath so long that Baekhyun would worry he’s drowned, if not for the occasional splashing. Then, after a time, there’s the telltale creak of the bathroom door opening. Baekhyun finds himself hoping that Kyungsoo has the sense not to step in his own dirty footprints.

“Baekhyun?” he hears Kyungsoo call out.

“In here,” Baekhyun replies, the slightest bit endeared by the idea of anyone getting lost in this little house.

Kyungsoo shuffles into the room, skin all rosy and wet hair falling over one shoulder. He looks like an indie rocker, or a rebellious teen who dreams of becoming one.

“Have fun?” Baekhyun asks.

“Your soap doesn’t smell very good,” says Kyungsoo, “but everything else was fine.”

“It’s just regular soap,” says Baekhyun. “It has a soap smell.”

Kyungsoo ignores this, asking, “Do you have anything I can tie my hair with?”

Baekhyun doesn’t. After he says this, he adds to his shopping list _Hair bands_ , then has a brief mental image of Kyungsoo with one of those scrunchies practically every girl he went to middle and high school with wore.

They sit together at the table. Kyungsoo doesn’t say anything for a while, and Baekhyun doesn’t have the heart to push him. The list is done for now, though, so Baekhyun doesn’t have anything to occupy himself with while he waits for Kyungsoo to do something other than gaze sullenly at the surface of the table. He settles for flipping to a new page and doodling lopsided swirls and crosshatches.

“I couldn’t stay,” Kyungsoo says eventually, soft and subdued.

When Baekhyun glances up, he sees that Kyungsoo’s watching his hand. “Why not?” he asks.

There’s a long pause. “I don’t know who I’m supposed to be anymore,” says Kyungsoo. “I don’t think any of them do, either.”

Baekhyun hums.

“They moved on when I was gone. They—” The words come out shaky now. Kyungsoo takes a breath in. “Mourned. No one knows what to do with me now.”

“I’m sorry,” Baekhyun says, because he is. Sorry in a sympathetic way, but also sorry that he caused this, even if Kyungsoo told him already not to feel that way. “That sounds tough.”

“I know it was cowardly to run away from my problems,” says Kyungsoo. “I just didn’t know what else to do. Staying wasn’t an option, but I…” He trails off uncomfortably, shrinking down on himself.

“Well, now that you’re here, I can help you figure something out.” At Kyungsoo’s doubtful look, Baekhyun puts on a smile. “That’s what friends are for, right?”

Kyungsoo’s still frowning. He says, “I don’t want to cause any problems for you.”

Baekhyun snorts. “Then don’t? I really don’t mind having you stay here, Kyungsoo. It’ll be nice to have someone else around.” As he says it, Baekhyun realizes how true the sentiment is. He hadn’t noticed just how lonely the house felt with just him in it.

“Are you sure?” Kyungsoo asks, finally daring to look hopeful, eyes a bit wide and brows pulled together.

“Yep, hundred percent,” says Baekhyun. “I mean, I dunno how sleeping arrangements are gonna—”

Just then, there’s a knock at the door. Kyungsoo startles, jumping in his seat and then freezing. He has deer-in-headlights eyes, and his mouth has fallen open, in a look that would be hilarious in any other situation. Baekhyun can feel his own face mirroring the look of shock. He twists around in his seat to catch a glimpse of the clock on the wall. Three fourteen.

“Oh, shit,” he breathes. “I forgot about the fucking librarian.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update took longer than I expected because I'm bad at making decisions, oop.
> 
> pls don't come at me about any choices I make on things like people's family members, because finding people who look like other people is an absolutely nightmarish task and it very nearly killed me ;;;;;;;


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